Marvel Heroes
by Johnny Snowball
Summary: The Daywalker battles the vampire Mafia with help from the Web slinger, a Man Without Fear, and a group of heroes with the X factor. High octane action all the way! BLADE meets SPIDERMAN, DAREDEVIL & X MEN. Featuring KINGPIN.
1. Teaser

((This story is based on the movies and takes place summer 2002 – After X-Men 1, just before Daredevil movie (I cheated here and had the events of DD happen before my story), just after Spider-Man 1 and just after Blade 2.))

Picks up where my story 'On The Council's Secret Service' left off (But you don't need to read that to read this)

All the following Heroes are owned by Marvel

* * *

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- Teaser --**

The Sumida River crept up from Tokyo bay like a thick oil slick in the dark of night. Only the vibrant City neons disturbed the black of her waters and lantern-lit evening cruises that floated gracefully on her surface. Somewhere on the mainland, beneath the concrete and steel, subway cars were completing their final run of the day. It was almost midnight in Japan's Capital City.

From the high vantage-point atop the curve of the Kiyobashi Bridge, a dark figure looked out over the cityscape. A gentle summer breeze played with the tails of the figure's long black coat, the inside of which was lined blood red. From the back of the trenchcoat stood the hilt of a unique sword etched with symbols. The figure's head moved and the dark tribal tattoo on the brown flesh of his neck creased. He turned, searching for a sound, a sense, something. Expression cold and intense. Eyes unreadable behind dark shades.

Beneath him a slick Toyota Urvan crossed over the bridge in a hurry. The figure stiffened and flashed a set of white fangs.

The hilt belonged to the sword of the Daywalker. The figure was Blade.

He spun, whipping up his coat tails, and dropped from the rail. His black Ducati Sport Tourismo waited for him in the shoulder under the hump of the bridge and, with a hard kick that fired the motorcycle up, he screeched away.

----------

Just off the main street of Chuo-dori in central Tokyo, an alleyway led behind an old warehouse building. There it led to a small courtyard where the sound of laughter and excited Japanese conversation echoed around the abandoned site. Six members of Shinkudō joked and fooled around.

Shinkudō came from '_Shinso no gokudō_' meaning '_Pureblood Vampire Yakuza_' – the elite Japanese Vampire Mafia. This was their safe house. A meeting place for any odd-numbered night of the month. The warehouse that surrounded the yard on three sides was abandoned and served the Shinkudō in many ways. Meetings, hide-out, torture, hostage confinement, goods storage and, of course, the occasional low-key rave.

On the fourth side, behind the courtyard, half a high rise apartment block was partially constructed. The steel frame stood at seven storeys but only five were concreted with visible openings where, if building ever continued on the forgotten project, windows and patio doors would be fitted. The courtyard itself was plain. Its only feature was the overturned dumpster against the wall of the building. This was sometimes used as a drop-off point for illicit items too large to post. It wasn't usual for the Tōkyō Shinkudō to hang around in the yard. But on this night they weren't staying long.

The only vehicle parked in the yard was a deep blue and black Kawasaki Vulcan 1500 Mean Streak. A cruiser motorcycle with attitude. She looked classic with the stylish drag bars that place your hands in just the right position and the machinery free from all that bulky body kit of sports bikes. She belonged to Kinji – the highest-ranking of the six clan members present. He was lean and short at 165cm and his scalp was shaved smooth. He did this to stand out from the others. To show his higher status and unique position. His clothing too was simple, unlike his younger subordinates who wore increasingly complex and pointless attire.

Kinji always presented himself as the functional strong arm of the local clan wing. He wore black pants made of cotton and a blue hemp jinbei top. The jinbei top was a loose short-sleeved wraparound summer jacket that tied once on the inner left side and again on the outer right. It was cool, well aired, and functional. Just like his head. With him he had the newest member of the group. It was his first time meeting anyone as high ranking as Kinji and the first impression the young vampire gave was not good. He wasn't Shinso – pureblood – but he was an excellent hacker and programmer. But a geek by a mile. He looked like any Japanese salary-man with his brown tailored suit and factory-fitted parted hairstyle. Kinji hoped he wouldn't send Takeshi into a fit.

Kinji let the new boy's rambling conversation wash over his ears as he looked around the courtyard.

_Koi_ – not the fish but a shortening of _Kakkoi-Aoi_ meaning 'Cool-Blue' – was the longest-running clan member there. He was fairly young. But he, like many of the others, was into Goth. Japanese style. His hair gave him his name – neon blue in colour and cut similar, as Kinji recalled, to an old dodgy American rapper named Vanilla-Ice. He wore lots of black from materials Kinji couldn't name and with pointless bands and straps that made him look more like he was in a kinky straight jacket. Koi was sat in the saddle of Kinji's Kawasaki Vulcan talking animatedly with _Jūnan_. His name meant 'Flexible' though he preferred the American 'Flex'. He too wore mostly black with medium length hair styled in the 'dragged through a rice field by a cow' fashion. His hair was streaked black and green and somehow managed to stay in its dishevelled position every day.

In the corner of the yard were the other two. They, Kinji thought, were slightly more normal.

_Gin_ was Kinji's favourite. His name meant 'Silver'. It was easy to see how he came by that name. His hair was long and feathered in a feminine style and coloured pure white. His shirt also was white and the fashionable slightly loose suit he wore was a remarkable silver colour. All his clothes where white or silver. Kinji liked Gin regardless of his femininity because he was a thoughtful, intelligent and resourceful young Shinkudō.

Unlike his odd-couple friend _Baka_ who was also in the corner with him. Baka was a clumsy fool – as his name suggested – but rumours that he was Gin's lover explained why he was never far from his side. Those two were having the most fun it seemed. They were playing. Toying. Putting the fear of Hell into their captive.

In the corner, a young white girl – a westerner – was bound in barbs; her clothes ripped; her skin dirty and cut in many places. Gin and Baka were taking turns lightly slicing her skin with shallow slashes of a razor, licking her blood, and whispering sweet horrors in her ears. The girl was a shivering wreck of dread incarnate and managed only to make spluttering weeping sounds. Distraught didn't begin to describe her condition. In a parallel reality in which she would live to see tomorrow, Kinji pictured her in therapy for the rest of her life.

He suddenly wondered if it had been wise to allow them their games tonight. It wouldn't matter anyway. Takeshi had arrived.

A Toyota minivan, sleek with custom bodywork and blacked out with a polished jet finish, rolled into the yard and almost blocked the alley to the street. Her thin angled headlights were tinted rouge and strip-lights fitted beneath the chassis wrapped the base of the machine in a violet skirt. Her hood was steep-angled and swept back to the roof like the beak of a giant black puffin. The engine growled and died. Silence fell among the vampires and those playing stopped their games, transfixed by the arrival of their leader.

A pony-tailed human Familiar with a clear glyph tattoo covering the back of his hand stepped out the driver's door on the right and moved back to open the rear door. Cold air released from the air-conditioned van. Inside was a small table with a compact leather couch at either side. Lighting came only from concealed neons.

_Takeshi Shibasaki_ stepped out into the courtyard. He held himself in a way that screamed cocky and arrogant. Kinji knew he thought himself a vampire Castor Troy as he watched the young clan chief stride from his car and fix his jacket. He wore a sharp, tailored three-button grey sharkskin suit around a crimson shirt and tie. His hair was flashed with auburn and caramel in the unkempt style popular with Japanese youth. He bore many pewter rings. One, on his thumb, was a large Dragon's head. Takeshi lit a small cigar with a match and meandered over to his crew.

Yes, Kinji thought, he was a brash hotshot. But he always got them the sweet jobs that brought the cash and the blood. And this next job would reap awe-inspiring rewards. The vampires looked on him as a God among them.

The newbie – Yutaka – welcomed him; "Shibasaki-sama, hajimemashite, watakushi wa eiyo desu, yoroshiku onegaishimasu," he said, ingratiating himself feverishly with a bow to honour his boss. Takeshi didn't register his blatant bootlicking.

Cool-Blue stepped over to the geek. "We're going to America, Dick-head, better learn the lingo!"

Takeshi went straight to his number two.

"Everything's set," Kinji confirmed. "The jet's fuelled at the airport and ready to go tonight. Hitomi and the others are there now."

Takeshi nodded and threw down the cigar. "Good. You, Hitomi and I are taking the job over there..." Takeshi spotted the captive girl and he put out a disapproving finger. "What the f––k is this?"

Kinji cringed. Damn it he should have known. "Just some fun, Chief–" He was cut off as the Familiar approached Takeshi with a cellphone at his ear.

"Shibasaki-san, It's Karlos - he just heard Blade's in town."

The atmosphere in the yard changed suddenly and the circle of vampires glared at their leader with wide eyes begging his response.

Takeshi pointed to the girl; "Fun's over. It's time to move."

Before they could take a step, a single resonating gunshot rang out.

Eyes were darting around the group – did someone get shot? A hissing drew their searching orbs to Koi – Cool-Blue – something was wrong. He reached a shaking hand to his chest and realised it was heating up. Ahead of him a fresh bullet had dug into the wall of the safe house. Was it silver? Was it Blade?

Koi screamed. Pain struck him as he began to burn. The others jumped back. Koi's arms went up as he was consumed in flame. The fire licked and he was gone. His molten ashes hit the floor. The remaining Shinkudō desperately scanned their surroundings for Blade, but they saw no sign.

Above them in the abandoned building site, in what would have been a patio doorway, the dark figure of Blade holstered his custom mach gun and drew out a small metallic sphere. The sound of Blade activating the spherical device drew the gang's attention.

Takeshi saw Blade for the first time with his own eyes and could not contain his surprise; "You found me…" His voice held more awe than fear.

Blade simply shot a sinister grin of triumph at Takeshi… and hurled the sphere into the air. The device landed with a thump and rolled to a stop in the centre of the yard. The attention of the entire gang was focused on it.

Blade slid away from the opening with a flap of his coat.

No one moved in the courtyard and all eyes were on the quiet little sphere. A sense of shock had stunned the vampires. Blade was the last thing they'd expected on this night. His timing was ironic. The inside of the sphere suddenly lit up with an ultra-violet glow.

Gin cried out; "UV GRENADE!"

Panic erupted. Takeshi and Kinji hurried to the back of the blackened minivan and the Familiar bundled them inside and closed the door. Flex ran to the far side of the minivan and ducked behind. Gin, a closet coward, darted around the big dumpster and hid inside. The geek didn't move. He spoke no English and had no idea what was going on. Baka moved to the motorcycle and used it for cover. In the corner, the girl was lost in another world. The Familiar stood guard.

The grenade gave a short beep and a blinding white-blue flash went off like a blast from the sun.

Moments later, the Familiar slid open the van door and let Takeshi and Kinji out. The remaining vampires emerged from hiding. They looked about. Beside the bike and in the clearing were two burning dust remnants. The new geek and Baka were gone. And there was no sign of Gin. Takeshi clicked his fingers and sent the Familiar and Flex to check around for signs of Blade.

The Familiar went to the burned-out grenade and kicked it away, searching the apartments above for the Daywalker.

Just when things seemed to have gone quiet and their guard began to drop, Blade descended into the courtyard in the midst of them.

Blade stood; his face meant business. He shot out a hand holding his folded glaive. The blade snapped open and the Daywalker spun, dropped, and hurled it across the yard taking out the Familiar's right foot. The man hit the dirt face-first and the glaive span up into the air.

Blade arose to face Flex, pulling out two silver stakes with his trademark flair. The green and black-haired vampire growled and extracted a short skewer from his gothic belt. The human began to peel himself from the floor on his good leg. Blade advanced on Flex, whirled to avoid the skewer, came around on his rear and reached an arm over his shoulder digging the silver point into his heart. Flex dissolved.

Blade's glaive tore through the sky towards him. Without looking, he threw back a hand and caught the weapon effortlessly.

Takeshi put a desperate hand on Kinji's shoulder; "Kill Blade!"

The smooth-headed strong arm of the Shinkudō felt a flush of the impending when he obediently stepped out to face the unstoppable Daywalker. Takeshi scuttled back beside the dumpster like a cowardly rodent. So much for Castor Troy. Unknown to Takeshi, the silver Gin still hid out of sight inside the waste skip.

Blade holstered his glaive and relaxed for the next fight. He cracked his neck - a silver stake still in hand. Before him he saw a wounded Familiar, and farther away – Kinji. Blade moved in on the human as he struggled to draw a gun from the waist of his pants. He managed to raise it – was about to get off a shot–

Blade reached in and snapped his wrist, knelt and pounded the guy in his nuts. He doubled over in pain onto Blade's back. Blade wrestle-lifted him and slung him down on his back, stomping a foot into his face. This all happened in a split second.

Blade turned to Kinji, playfully exhibiting the stake. From his body language, Blade could see Kinji was a confident martial artist. The two men tussled – Blade blocked all Kinji's attacks and Kinji managed to avoid the stake until he gave the Daywalker a slamming palm-punch to the sternum. Blade slid back on his toes. He stopped, shook it off, and moved in. They tussled again. A flurry of dazzling arm movements. Blocks, attacks and counter attacks. Until Blade thrashed his fist into Kinji's chest and sent him skidding back to a distant stop. He recovered his feet, somewhat disappointed.

"I always imagined you to have more bite, Blade-san." 

The bald vampire attacked – Blade ducked and whipped a boot up into his face. They tussled again and Kinji stopped the stake short of his chest. Blade let off a flurry of hits and buried the stake in – only to find Kinji had taken it in the arm. Kinji was momentarily stunned. But he moved in. Blade whipped out his mach and gave Kinji a hollow-point in the chest.

Takeshi, realising his fate, looked to his car. It would take too long to open the door, get in, start her up and manoeuvre out of the tight alley onto the road. He looked back to Blade, then locked his eyes on Kinji's motorcycle. The key was in the ignition. He didn't pause. Takeshi made a dash.

Gin poked his head from the dumpster and saw Takeshi's escape flight. Blade saw it too and turned to get his true target as flames signalled Kinji's end. Takeshi started the bike and rolled away, passing Blade. Blade aimed his gun. If he had to he'd kill Takeshi before he let him go.

Gin appeared from the trash box and made a last-minute run to join Takeshi on the bike – but was too late by an inch. Takeshi rode across the yard. Blade fired a burst that Takeshi ducked. The silver-suited Gin got up beside the Daywalker. Blade tried to stay with Takeshi, adjusting his aim. With the minivan mostly blocking the exit to the alley he could catch him still. But Gin hissed and pounced at him. Blade had no choice but to kick this suck-head's ass quick. As the vampire attacked, Blade was side-on. He simply darted his left arm out and sliced his hand against Gin's throat. The white-topped vamp stopped dead and gripped his neck. Blade twisted about to blast him in the skull with a garlic-filled bullet.

Takeshi manoeuvred awkwardly through the slight gap between the alley wall and car. The bike scraped and bumped past the car and tore away. Blade, late, gave chase – running up the hood of the minivan, over the roof and out onto the sidewalk.

Takeshi was gone. The dark vampire hunter snarled his displeasure and twirled his gun into its holster. He turned back to the yard.

----------

Blade tore into the streets of central Tokyo on his black crotch-rocket and burned up the road. He slipped between two sluggish compacts and felt the smooth delivery of his big-bore 900 engine as a swift motion of his wrist sent a shock wave through the machine and her thundering twin power plants kicked out a thrust of power.

He knifed through Niponbashi District and into Akihabara. Takeshi's Vulcan could give the Ducati a run for its money and he had a good lead on Blade. But Blade had a good idea he would be heading for Narita or Haneda airport where a private jet would be waiting to take him to the States. He'd make for Expressway-1 and see if he could spot Takeshi from there.

It was half-past midnight and the expressway was busy enough. Tokyo slept about as well as New York. Blade raced for a kilometre between the centre and slow lanes checking the streets below for any sign of the distinct profile of the Vulcan Mean Streak before he clocked it a hundred metres ahead in the fast lane. The vehicles around Blade made known their feelings for his swerving and undertaking with a chorus of horn blasts as he pushed across to the fast lane and into the narrow service lane. Takeshi must have noticed Blade's approach because the blue Kawasaki cruiser took off into the service lane and shot up to 160kph. Blade's Ducati roared when he let her rip with everything she had.

Takeshi had the Vulcan maxed-out but he knew he couldn't keep ahead of the sports bike for long. Blade. The son of a bitch. He doubted the Daywalker could be stopped but he could slow the freak down enough to get his ass out of Japan. He reached for the cellphone in his jacket pocket, made a quick call, cut through the traffic violently and took the next exit.

Blade followed his heels down the ramp of the expressway and soared down Yasukuni-dori. Takeshi was heading for the Number-5 and probably Narita airport. Or he was smart enough to try and lose him on the wrong trail before doubling back to Haneda. But Blade had no intention of letting Shibasaki slip away. He was responsible for too much bad sh-t and was the only key to whichever Overlord was running the Shinkudō.

Two sharp turns came – a right and a left – then onto a four-lane carriageway that ran for two kilometres behind the Imperial Palace. He was close now. Close enough to see Takeshi reach to answer his phone. The vampire looked back at him. He waved goodbye with a smirk.

What the…?

From the other side of the road two vehicles sped and swerved into the oncoming traffic between Takeshi and Blade.

A huge silver-purple Toyota 4Runner SUV and a sharp glowing red Honda Interceptor motorcycle. The rider of the bike – too swift to be a human – pulled a gun as he rocketed toward Blade.

Blade hit the stopper and rolled the Ducati onto its front wheel, spinning the ass of the bike up and around. The rider skidded and just ducked under Blade's rear wheel as he passed. The Ducati slammed down and Blade, seeing the oncoming 4Runner, hammered the gas and narrowly missed being swiped by the SUV. He gave a low growl and powered away after Takeshi.

The 4Runner made a grating handbrake turn and joined the Interceptor in pursuit of the Daywalker. Blade saw the guns drawn behind him before the bullets whistled through the night and ricocheted along the road. He swerved evasively and fired back with his mach. Blade hit the SUV but barely scratched her window and the Honda rider didn't even flinch when he took the remaining ammo in the helmet and chest. Nothing. Clearly they were well protected. Blade knew these guys were pro's. They were armed. Bullet-proof. Combat trained.

He weaved through the Tokyo traffic and pumped the gas to gain some clearance. There was nothing for it. His pursuit had gone to sh–t. He gave up on Takeshi and decided to deal with the suck-heads on his ass. He'd get his info from them.

Blade wheeled into the next turning revving the bike up and down in high gear as he took the corner and was glad for the great torque of the Ducati engine. His pursuers weren't far behind and he led then along Hakusan-dori and into the old part of town where the streets became tighter and the roads more rugged. He took them through side streets and gradually up toward the park and Palace.

He wasn't happy with how well they were keeping up with him and their gunfire bothered him more. Most of all, he didn't like being the one doing the running. He wanted to get them over to the crest of the hill beyond the Nijubashi Bridge. That would be a good quiet place to do his work. Lots of closed stores and few people. But circling around the Palace with bullets on his back tested Blade's skill a little too early in the game for him. He crossed Uchibori, turned the bike hard into Kitanomaru Park and ripped the dirt. They chased across an open lawn – bullets zipping – and between a group of large ponds always swerving and weaving artfully in a pursuit more like an automotive ballet.

Blade found a thin body of water with angled banks and crimson acer trees clustered around. He tried to slow the 4Runner by riding up through the rocky stream but the SUV was an excellent off-road all-wheel-drive and didn't stop. The Interceptor went through the trees to cut him off and Blade took a difficult turn onto a small humped bridge. His bike took flight at the crest of the hump and his suspension gave a heavy moan when he came down. He gave her full throttle and made for the Palace grounds.

He kept his right hand on the bars as he slipped a fresh mag into it with his left. He rode across the grass surrounding the Palace walls until he saw a small iron gate beside a massive wooden one. He drew his mach, released the empty mag, slapped in the fresh one, and shot the metal gate off its hinges. He motored through the arch and into the Palace grounds. The Honda followed him through and moments later, with a sheering crunch, the 4Runner crashed through the larger gate.

Blade took them through the cherry blossoms of the Japanese garden and onto the front lawn. A forest of black pine trees dressed the lawn and Blade weaved among them. Lanterns among the trees gave some light to the chase. He circled around, kicking up moss with his tires, until he ran parallel with his pursuers and shed a spurt of ammo into the tyres of the Interceptor. Again, astonishingly, there was no effect. It was the same with the SUV. They didn't have pneumatic tyres at all but some kind of elastomer. The f ––––ers had rubber tyres!

Blade replaced his empty mach and caught sight of the front face of the Imperial castle as he rode by. Only a few windows were lit. The Imperial family were inside no longer tucked up in bed. Not with sports cycles and an SUV tearing through their garden firing automatic weapons. This was gonna cause some trouble for the authorities when the Emperor made his hysterical phone call. If he hadn't already. The Palace guards wouldn't be long.

He spun the Ducati and headed along the wall to the front gate. Another huge heavy wooden barricade. Blade weaved to avoid bullets and slid his sword from its sheath. He shot past the gate, slicing through the trunk of a young ginkgo tree, and circled back around. The Honda was almost on top of him coming fast and he cut the air with his sword. The rider fell back against the stern of his cycle. The sword missed and Blade headed straight for the fallen tree. It lay on a steep angle from the lawn to the top of the high wall next to the giant gate. He put his weight forward with the sword ahead of his front wheel to sever the branches in his path and ramped the bike up the tree trunk and over the wall.

With a crunch that ruined his suspension, he landed on the Nijubashi Bridge and took her across a plaza and right into a wide festival street. At one end he brought the Ducati to a standstill and let the motor idle. He watched the other end of the road and waited. He could barely wait to get to work on these time-wasting leeches. He could imagine Takeshi getting on his jet laughing at how easily he'd slipped out of the grasp of the big bad Daywalker.

Sure enough, the painful crunch came. The SUV had rammed the great wooden Palace gate and now paused at the intersection. They came for him.

He spun the back wheel into line and powered the bike and burned a quarter inch of rubber tearing away. He took them into the quiet narrow road that led down from the Palace area at a steep gradient. The Interceptor tailed the 4Runner as it thundered after him like a tank. Blade didn't need the gas and he didn't bother to apply any brake either as he rolled at high speed down the rough hill. Suddenly, with the speed and agility only he could display, he took the Ducati almost 90 degrees into an alley no wider than a doorway without loosing speed.

Blade came out in an identical steep street and shot a few metres beyond the next intersection. He stopped quickly but quietly. Blade cut the engine and walked the bike backward into another doorway alley and doused the lights. He could picture the scene further up the road. When Blade vanished between the buildings the SUV stopped. He'd heard the brakes. The Interceptor would have followed him awkwardly between the buildings and the 4Runner would be joining it on this road at the wider intersection. Any second–

He heard them coming. Tearing after him down the hill. He grinned at the plan. The hard fists of the Shinkudō shot past him and Blade fired his bike up and went after them. He drew up behind them, the sound of his engine masked by their own. Blade drew his glaive and slung it at the rider ahead. The Interceptor was weaving either side of the Toyota to look ahead and the spinning weapon only cut across the rider's shoulder as it flew. The rider, in red and black leathers, rolled his helmet around and spotted Blade in pursuit. Blade dropped the gears and heard the low-end grunt as he whipped the Ducati forward.

He closed the gap without minding when the rider of the Honda Interceptor aligned the barrel of a heavy duty handgun with Blade's face because, as he did, the glaive swung back into Blade's waiting hand. The rider's helmet, like a discarded object, fell away in a spurt of embers. Blade swerved the black smog and fire-crackle and avoided the toppled cycle.

He slammed the brakes too late.

The 4Runner was stopped. If he continued on his skid he'd finish up in the front seat of the SUV. Blade jumped, letting the bike skid off on a tangent. As the front doors of the Toyota opened, Blade swept gracefully over the vehicle, drawing his twin black and silver Heckler & Kochs' and unloaded a few slugs into the car's toughened windscreen.

He landed in front of the truck. He gave them no chance to come out with their guns and emptied his HKs into the front doors. Discarding the guns, he went for the driver – kicked the door. A submachine gun fell to the street and the door flew back at him. Blade dodged and whipped his coat. The passenger was now aiming over the car with his micro-Uzi. Blade went low and thumped the side of the driver's kneecap. The vampire screamed and buckled. He was Japanese with girlish hair and Blade took a handful of it, dragging him down to take him in a kneeling headlock.

He couldn't take them both alive and the passenger was coming around the hood with his submachine gun. With the hand wrapped around the driver's head, Blade slipped a finger into the hook of his vest's garrotte wire. In a fluid motion he removed the head, recovered the vamp's weapon from the ground, rose from behind the armoured door, and drained the magazine into the passenger's bodysuit. The bleached-haired vamp shielded his head with both arms. Nice. The Daywalker used the fender of the SUV as a platform to launch a spinning kick that disarmed and stunned him. He tried to block the next attack from Blade but the Daywalker had a speed and method unmatched. His arm snapped in a rush of moves from Blade. Then he found himself on the ground with the Daywalker's mach aimed at his face.

Blade hissed. The vampire didn't know his mach was empty. "You better start talkin', motherf–––er."

----------

The vampire, his legs sliced off at the knees and one arm broken, lay immobile before the front wheel of the SUV. Blade stood at the driver's door and released the parking brake slightly. The wheel rolled slowly and the heavy elastomer tyre began to crush the vampire's chest. He groaned. But he still didn't talk.

Blade applied the brake. "Where's Takeshi going?" he hissed. They'd wasted his time and now they weren't giving him anything. He roared; "Takeshi doko iku!?"

Not a peep. Blade let the whole front wheel roll over him and put the brake on.

A sharp dagger suddenly found its way into his shoulder.

A female had appeared from the back seat and buried a tactical knife into his flesh. Blade dragged her from the car.

She crouched in the street like a cat in the same body armour. She was beautiful. He ripped the knife from his shoulder and threw it down. She moved like a hurricane. The girl cartwheeled into him with a spinning kick and recovered the knife as she went. She came up and thrust its point at his face. He shirked his head to the side, nipped her attacking arm between his and made to wrap his garrotte wire around her throat. Her arm was damaged but she still brought the edge of the knife up and snapped the wire in half. It was a first for Blade. She was a firecracker.

The crushed vampire crawled out from under the SUV dragging his mangled body on one arm. He was heading for his fallen gun.

Blade wrestled with the girl and tried to pound his boot into her. She feinted and fell away from it, spun, and swiped a heel across his head. Blade revolved with the impact and almost fell onto his Ducati. The bike with his shotgun holstered behind the seat. He grabbed the handlebars and swung the heavy machine, smashing the girl into a store window.

The crushed vamp reached his gun and turned it on the Daywalker. Blade snatched the shotgun up out of its cycle holster. He pumped it and exploded the goon's head. With a brief glow he melted into the night. He kicked his leg back and sent the sneaking girl onto her ass.

Blade turned the shotgun on her and showed her his pearly whites. "You wanna talk?"

She looked around for a weapon or a break.

"Didn't think so." He blew her apart.

The Daywalker stood silently and reflected. So far the whole night had amounted to nothing but a bad headache. In the distance sirens began to sound their approach to the Palace. Blade's bike was wrecked. He climbed into the SUV. It would serve for now. A little conspicuous having just ram-raided the Emperor of Japan's Imperial Palace but he knew where he could exchange it for a nice custom-kitted minivan.

----------

The Familiar with the ponytail took a hard slap across the face. Blade had found him where he left him – in the courtyard cradling himself on the ground trying to reach someone on his cell. Blade held him by the collar and smacked him again up the side of his head.

The man yelped. "No way! …I no tell you jack!"

Blade kicked the guy's bad leg, dropping him to his knees, and twisted his bad wrist.

He cried out. "Okay, man! Yamete! I tell you! New York! …He go to New York. …ah, sh–t."

Blade eyed him impassively and began to walk away.

The Familiar struggled to his feet. "But you ain gonna catch him, yada!"

Blade stopped. Turned back.

"Cos I gonna smash you up, kakujitsu!"

Blade returned and faced him, standing tall. The human couldn't even stand straight let alone fight. He looked like he was being held up by strings and held together by spit.

Blade removed his shades casually and slipped them into his coat. "Oh, really?" He took hold of the guy gently by the collar and drew back a fist.

He paused. Lowered the arm. "Nah." He released the man and walked away. The Familiar collapsed like a doped bull.

Blade registered the captive, shaken white girl in the corner. He scooped up the open cell phone.

The quivering girl noticed the shadow over her and reluctantly lifted her vacant eyes to see the terrible figure of Blade standing over her – phone outstretched in his gloved hand.

"You might wanna make a call," he said as softly as his sandpaper larynx would allow.

The girl took the cellular in a dithering hand and wheezed; "…thank you."

Blade withdrew with one last word to himself…

"Tourists."

* * *


	2. New Day

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- New Day --**

It was a quiet afternoon in Westchester, New York. Beautiful sunshine poured over the green lush leaves of sugar maple trees. Beyond these lay a vast acreage of land in which stood an extensive and isolated rustic mansion. A School for the Gifted.

In the swish den area, the sound of a bell rang and the chatter of children could be heard moving out into the gardens and to the dining hall for recess.

Scott Summers, his deadly eyes safely wrapped in quarts sunglasses, entered the luxurious room with a newspaper and a coffee. He relaxed into one of the couches and turned to the sports page of the _Daily Bugle_. The front-page headline read: 'WEB-SLINGER: SAINT OR SINNER', accompanied by a flattering photo of Spider-Man posing in mid-flight.

Scott looked through the local news items. Nothing caught his eye. There was a small Daredevil article: 'ROUGH JUSTICE – Daredevil strikes again in Kitchen' and something about a local theatre actress appearing in court for alleged assault. The tiny picture of the girl had the print 'Mary-Jane Watson' beneath. He looked up. Professor Charles Xavier wheeled into the room in his electric wheelchair and eyed the Bugle in Scott's hands with disdain.

"I thought we'd cancelled that rubbish," he commented and picked up _The Westchester Tribune_ from a low table.

As Storm and Rogue entered, Scott replied; "Logan brought it back with him."

"Logan's back?" Storm said in surprise. "When did this happen?"

"First thing this morning. Ruined my bike."

Rogue had already rushed out the door.

**---------------**

Logan, in a red lumberjack shirt and leather jacket, puffed on a fat cigar on the gravel path of the mansions' front lawn. It had been a peaceful time-out before the kids had come out and broke the atmosphere. Across the garden they had set out picnics and games and were making a hullabaloo. The sun shone hard and Logan ignored them and puffed away on the stogie.

"I heard you were back."

The familiar voice made Logan turn with a smile. "Hey, Kiddo."

Rogue hugged him briefly.

"Stickin' it out here, huh?" he said. "How ya been?"

"I'm good," she said in high spirits.

"I heard they made you an _X-Man_."

"That'd be _X-Woman_," she rephrased. "And yeah – it's official. How'd things go up north?"

Logan growled. "Goddamn waste of time."

"Oh. Sorry." She shrugged. "Here." Rogue handed him his dog tags. "Look, you should know, …I got over you."

He took the chain and curled his mouth down. "No more crush, huh?"

"Nope."

"Well, good. I can do without the shadow. So …who is he?"

She flushed. "Huh?"

"Well, I take it you found a younger model."

His deduction made her smile. "Yeah, actually. He's over there." She indicated to a small group of children huddled around a taller kid.

Logan checked him out. "Who? The kid with the bad haircut?"

Rogue raises an eyebrow at his own 'horns'. Logan shrugged, flicking his right 'horn' and grinned.

"His name's Remy LeBeau," she explained.

"Sounds like a French beard trimmer."

She let out a guilty laugh.

Logan fitted the cigar back into the side of his mouth. "Go on. Get outta here."

She smiled coyly and hopped away toward the new guy. "I'm glad you're back, Logan," she called.

He turned away from the garden and chewed the stogie. "Glad someone is."

**---------------**

In the glorious sunshine, the group of kids huddled around Remy LeBeau watched him carefully. They were at a makeshift plinth in the gardens that usually held a small statue – now laid on the lawn. The taller kid with the thick wild mess of brown hair was performing one of his infamous card tricks on the plinth. He had three cards - one supposedly an _Ace_. They were upside down and the younger children took turns trying to locate the _Ace_ as he moved them around. They always seemed to lose, however. Each in turn having to hand him some of their pocket money. Usually a dollar bill for every strikeout.

One of the older children, _Vimto_ as the English students called him for his purple skin and chubby grape-like appearance, challenged that the _Ace_, in fact, wasn't there. Remy narrowed his bright blue eyes at the young raspberry and made him pick a card. Vimto chose the middle one and Remy, ever so slowly, turned it. _Diamonds 10_. An intake of air came from the group and Vimto shook his head, not at all surprised. Slowly, Remy overturned the card on the left of it. _Ace of Spades_. Vimto huffed and reached into his pants pocket.

In a very thick New Orleans Cajun accent, Remy declared; "There's yo' _Ace_, Gumbo. Subliminal messaging, man. I know what card ya gonna pick before _you_ do."

The plum-purple kid handed over a crisp dollar.

Remy saw Rogue walking his way across the grass. She was wearing black. Tight black leggings and a tight top that enclosed and covered her hands and made her bosom heave. Her cherry-brown hair was tied back just the way he loved it and the white streaks of her fringe hung down over her face. A wonderful face with full lush lips that gleamed wetly in the sun.

Remy packed up the game and slipped the deck into his back pocket. He went to her under the semi-shade of a big old ginko tree.

She smiled to him. "You'd rather make money than make-out with me?"

In her voice he sensed just a hint of seriousness. He put his arms tenderly, wantonly, around her waist. "That ain't funny, Chere. Y' know I would if I could."

He kissed her gloved hand. She leaned into him. Delicately their lips drew close, teasing, not quite kissing. They almost gave into it, but managed to stop themselves before it went too far.

Remy saw her expression. He knew it. Hated it. Because there was nothing he could do for her. Her face said she was angry with herself for her limits. He pulled her tightly to him and they hugged all afternoon under the big old ginko tree.


	3. The Hearing

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- The Hearing --**

Mary-Jane Watson sat alone in the corridor of the New York City Criminal Court building with her dazed head in her hands. Her hands were shaking. She didn't know how much longer she could handle the surreal nightmare she was living. Her preliminary hearing was over. But the events just lived were reliving themselves in her mind with tormenting repetition.

She recalled the courtroom had no windows. It had been dark, forbidding, and basement-like. The air had been so cold that she'd shivered the whole time. She remembered the sombre black robes of the Judge – she couldn't recollect his name – as he'd entered the room and taken a seat behind his wooden podium. The memory of the gavel slam still rang in her ears…

**---------------**

"This hearing is to determine the validity of the suit motioned by the state; regarding the injuries incurred by victim Samuel Eckard, against the defendant; Mary-Jane Watson. The Charge is aggravated assault with intent to cause serious harm. …Miss Arad, your case, please."

The government lawyer, a slim attractive woman of dark complexion, possibly with Israeli blood, took the floor. Her hair was coal and her lips blood red. But it was her fierce eyes and strong, commanding presence that frightened MJ the most.

"On the night of May ninth," she began, "the defendant entered the alley across from New York Penn Station on Eighth Avenue behind Mr. Samuel Eckard as captured by the cash machine security camera beside the station entranceway."

MJ remembered the way she strode over to the Judge, handing him the surveillance screenshot.

She remembered her own lawyer standing and leaning on his cane. The crimson tinted sunglasses still covering his eyes in that dank room. He looked smart in the suit. But unlike the prosecution attorney, his presence begged sympathy rather than respect.

"I object, your Honour," Matt Murdock had said.

The Judge had motioned for an explanation.

Her lawyer, moving his cane around as if to subliminally advertise his blindness, replied; "This evidence should be stricken. It's peripheral to the event. The incident purportedly took place _within_ the alley. The prosecution has no independent witness to validate their claim of assault."

Arad had put her authoritative foot down. MJ recalled how expensive and professional she looked in court. "If I may continue my case, your Honour?"

"Objection overruled," said the Judge. "For now. Go on, Miss Arad."

"No others were seen entering or leaving the alley, and the victim's statement that only he and the defendant were present on entering remains uncontested. Moreover, Miss Watson admits to being there, and to receiving those bruises on her hands when hitting my client. And the defence's claim that 'Spider-Man did it' is nothing if not imaginative." With open arms and a look to the gathering in the room, she received a fished-for mumble of humour. Arad performed well. "If Spider-Man did, in some vigilante crusade, assault Mr. Eckard, let him come forward and testify. Let him come forward and take responsibility! The accused _has_ no defence, your Honour. "

She recalled the pain in her knotted stomach as Matt Murdock had lowered his head in defeat.

The Judge had nodded. "Has the defence anything more to add other than Miss Watson's statement that she was attacked by Mr. Eckard and that Spider-Man caused his injuries?"

Her lawyer hadn't stood up on her behalf at that. "Not at this time, your Honour," he'd said resignedly.

Arad didn't stop at that point. "May I just add, your Honour, that Mr. Eckard's injuries have resulted in his inability to continue working – therefore unable to support his wife and four children. He, if any one, deserves the chance to see justice done."

MJ's head throbbed with the memory of the Judge's next words.

"Based on the evidence presented here today, I see enough for probable cause. Mary-Jane Watson will be bound over for trial. The date shall be set for this coming Thursday. This hearing is adjourned."

And then the slamming of that damn gavel.

Bang…Bang…

…Bang.

**---------------**

"MJ? What happened?"

She lifted her head to see Peter Parker in the corridor, out of breath and late. As usual. He'd missed the whole terrible thing and failed to support her. But this wasn't the time for taking her pain out on him.

"They're putting me on trial, Peter!" she wept. "Me! I'm the victim!"

Peter gritted his teeth and stifled the moisture in his own eyes. "It'll be okay, MJ. Matt Murdock's the best lawyer you could hope for."

Her head fell into his chest. "Peter, he's the only lawyer I could afford."

Murdock approached and Peter lifted her away from him in an attempt to retain her dignity. Then he remembered the man was vision-impaired.

"This is why I don't take defence cases," he groaned. By his tone, it was clear he'd put this point to MJ many times. But his good heart had made him empathise for her. No one else after all would have taken this case with the intention to help her. It was a Catch-22.

Peter implored the blind man, "But you can clear her, right?"

"I don't know that I can. Not without Spider-Man. He's the only witness out there."

The weight of that didn't escape Peter. "What happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?"

Matt curled up his lip bitterly. "It doesn't always work out that way. I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Watson." He gave her a gentle pat on the arm and squeezed Peter's shoulder supportively and departed.

When he was out of earshot, MJ took Peter by the hands and gripped him.

"I need you to talk to Spider-Man for me," she urged.

It was exactly what he hoped she wouldn't say. There had to be some way to get her cleared of this ridiculous charge…

"I-I haven't seen him in a while."

She released him with a heavy and sad exhalation. "And here's me thinking Spider-Man _saved_ me."

MJ turned away from him and walked out the courthouse into the crowds of New York.

Peter's fingernails cut into the palms of his hands as he watched her go. He would do anything for her, wouldn't he? But was it wrong if it was more than he could do? What about his responsibility to the City? He fished in his pockets to find only a few cents in change. Looked like he was walking home.

What a hell of a dilemma, he reflected. As if there wasn't enough to worry about in the world.


	4. Night Falls

May I just mention that I can't imagine the movie Kingpin in this story. Kingpin is an impossibly massive creature as in the comics. But you feel free to go with what works for you, thanks. Oh, you may notice a lack of Jean Grey here. She simply had no place in this story for me so… sorry about that. If you need me to justify it then… She's in the UK with Dr. Moira MacTaggert to assess her leap of evolution caused by Magneto's machine on Liberty Island. There ya go. Enjoy!

* * *

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- Night Falls on Kingpin --**

New York City as night fell. In the twilight her towers looked like the spines of a giant sleeping dragon bathed in blinking firefly. Maybe not to everyone who saw it. But to Wilson Fisk it certainly did. He stood at the plate window of his top-floor office in secret. His frame outlandish in size. A man-mountain of hardened fat and muscle. The Kingpin of crime.

The room was unlit save for the moonlight that gave a blue glow to just a small area from the window edge to the side door entrance. There came a knock and the door opened at a grunt from Fisk. His aid entered and placed a security photo on his huge steel and glass desk.

The Kingpin turned his enormous fat head.

"There's an Asian guy hanging around the lobby, sir."

Kingpin took the photo-capture in his large hands and examined its every detail.

He threw the image down. It was Takeshi Shibasaki.

"He's expected," the big man thundered.

For a moment the aid's attention was drawn to a darkened corner of the office by the window. Nothing was visible there and he continued; "Funny thing, though. According to records, he's a ghost. Thought you should know."

Fisk nodded and the aid left. Kingpin approached his trusted Chief of Guards – Stonewall – and handed him the photo. He wasn't such a big man as Kingpin but by any other standard he was a big African muscle-tank of a human.

"Go down to the lobby and bring this man to my office," he commanded. As an after-thought he added, "Gently."

Stonewall went.

Kingpin returned to his window and the City he would soon own again.

**---------------**

Stonewall escorted Takeshi into the stark metallic office and Fisk signalled him to leave.

"You're late." Kingpin's voice was not angry. He continued to stare out the window with the moonlight glaring off his smooth scalp.

Takeshi pulled himself together a little. He turned to the darkened corner by the window and bowed at the shadows with respect then returned his attention to Mr. Fisk.

"Blade trouble," he put simply with no accent. "I'm here now."

"I was expecting three of you."

"Like I said – Blade trouble. 'Sides, I'm the only one you need. What's the gig?"

Kingpin rolled his massive form around to face Shibasaki. "I understand that you have connections… in certain circles."

"You mean the Vampire community."

Fisk ignored the absurd word they used for their diseased species and clarified; "I need you to arrange a party for an old nemesis of mine."

Takeshi noticed the ashtray on Fisk's desk and lit a small cigar. "This 'Daredevil' character? The guy who put you behind bars?"

"You've done your homework. I like that."

"You have a plan?"

Kingpin pushed the ashtray forward. "An associate of mine was cleared today of a serious crime. One he committed, of course. It was all very public. Lots of newspaper coverage. It won't take long for Daredevil to deliver his own justice."

"And the party?"

Kingpin handed Takeshi a folded notepaper. "The location my associate will be later tonight when Daredevil makes his move."

Takeshi gaped. "Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. I want you there… with all your friends."

Takeshi weighed his chances and took a risk, "Well I want all three cuts of the cash."

Fisk didn't bat an eyelid. "Agreed." He pointed Takeshi to a briefcase on the table. The young vampire took it.

"I also heard that you can identify this guy," Takeshi said. "Why don't you take him out when he's least expecting it?"

Fisk's severe face showed the first flash of anger. "My grievance isn't with the man behind the mask. I want Daredevil."

Takeshi shrugged. "So, I better go organise a going-away party. Make some connections."

"Be sure he dies!" Fisk insisted. "I want him overwhelmed."

"What about your associate?"

Fisk grinned. "…Enjoy him."

Takeshi smiled, bowed, and left the office.

Kingpin returned to the window again.

"I hope he is more resourceful than he appears," he said to the air.

A face revealed itself from the shadows in the darkened corner. A much older Japanese man with swept back whitened hair and a yellowed set of lengthy fangs.

"We have an arrangement, Mr Fisk. I will deliver the head of Daredevil. …In return, you will deliver the corpse of Blade to me."

Kingpin breathed in with the wonderful thought of it. "And when Daredevil is taken care of… I can focus on another problem… Spider-Man."

**---------------**

**-- Night Falls on Spider-Man --**

"As I was saying," Spider-Man lashed out with a punch, "and now that punk's got the very city I protect pressing charges against _her_!"

In the clasp of his other hand, a severely beaten thug whined. They were just two storeys up above the jewellery store the guy had been robbing. The night was cool and quiet.

Spidey bopped him in the face again. The thug shook it off.

Spidey shrugged casually; "I mean, what am I supposed to do?" He took his frustration, channelled it into his fist, and bopped the thug again on the nose.

Suddenly, the bleeding man pushed him away and made a dash for it.

"Hey…" Spidey spun and barred him with a reverse clothesline.

The thug fell to the floor and spotted his loot and gun.

"…I'm not through yet."

Out of shear desperation, the man leapt up with the bag of loot in one hand and the revolver in the other. "I am!" he cried out, waving the gun about. "You're _crazy_!" The man spasmed into a crazy-dance and had a giddy-fit, hurling the gun at Spider-Man. Spidey caught it. It was followed by the loot. And the thug ran away squealing.

Spidey watched him go, stunned. "…um…"

The guy kept going until he flipped over the edge of the roof and clattered into a bursting pile of trash. A loud groan came rising up from the street.

Spidey looked about awkwardly. "…okay…"

He became alert suddenly. There was danger close-by. He dropped the gear and twirled around.

"Uh-oh. Trouble's brewin'."

A few spider-leaps later and he was at the higher position of a low scraper. Looking down, he saw a long flat warehouse. It was closed but looked recently worked in.

"I don't see anything. …But my spider-sense is tingling. Better take a closer look."

Spidey reached forth. With a flick of his wrist, a line of web fired away and he swung into the heart of danger.

**---------------**

**-- Night Falls on Daredevil --**

Baiter flicked a thumb and his zippo lighter ignited. The scrawny, fierce-looking man, bathed in moonlight, lit the crooked role-up cigarette between his thin lips. He took a drag and scanned around. The name _Baiter_ wasn't really his. It was Kingpin's code name for him tonight. And he didn't like it one bit. It sounded too… disposable. But bait he was. And you don't argue with the Kingpin.

A shadow fell across him and he looked upward to see a figure standing on a rooftop – the moon a halo around his horned skull.

Daredevil!

Baiter wasn't psyched. He wasn't ready. He panicked, dropped the cigarette and ran.

The cigarette landed with a flash of embers and Daredevil's feet impacted into the tarmac, crushing the smoke. The red avenging Devil straightened and turned toward the fleeing villain.

**---------------**

Daredevil burst through a warehouse door into a dark corridor. He stopped. All was silent. For Daredevil, the faint pulsing of his heartbeat gave the room a vagueness that didn't quite create a crisp image he could work with. He drew a baton from his leg brace and moved it across the wall until it met with a metal pipe running up from the floor. He cracked the baton against it and the blackness behind his dead eyes was invaded by a rolling pulse that gave the corridor dimension.

The corridor ran off to the left. He followed it.

Soon he found himself in a much larger section. Sounds were minimal. There was a breeze outside that rattled the corrugated roof. It seemed to be a high roof. There was a hole in it somewhere because he heard the light wind pushing gently through it. A small object, he sensed a roof bolt, fell through the gap. Now he knew there was a walkway on a second level. It was clear he was in a large storage facility. He didn't smell any–

His senses corrected him. A woman was there. Right in front of him. He could smell her scent. It gave her dimension. She was standing, sexy, in a provocative dress. On her head she wore Halloween horns and she twirled a fabric devil tail in her hand.

The evening had taken a surreal turn. He sensed nothing relevant there and he made to exit. That was when sounds began to open up the world around him.

Two burly men blocked his path with a hissing that lit up the sharp teeth in their mouths. Then he smelt blood… and a slurping sound that drew him back into the warehouse.

Behind the devil-girl, he could now sense the man he was chasing.

Baiter lay immobile, slack, unfeeling, neck ravaged, in the arms of another man. A man with the scent of blood on him. A man with long hair, many piercings and a thick wet beard. A man with a wide-open maw… and fangs. Huge, dripping canines.

The Devil stiffened. "What the…?" He drew a second baton and, reluctantly, he bashed them together.

The warehouse lit up violently and he saw it all. His breath caught dryly in his throat.

Men with guns. Cold creatures with no pulse. A hundred. Maybe more.

He tried to remember he was the Man Without Fear.

A voice in the crowd called out; "That's the guy!"

The Devil felt Hell descend upon him.

**---------------**

**-- Night Falls: X-Men Scramble --**

"The whole site at Alkali Lake was levelled," Logan was saying from his seat in the den of the X-Mansion. Storm was on the couch across the room and the professor sat in his wheelchair beside him.

"Nothing?" Storm asked, surprised.

Xavier sensed something and suddenly raised his head to the doorway.

Scott entered in a hurry; "I just intercepted a _911_ callout–"

"–To a possible hostile gathering in the City," Xavier finished.

Scott nodded. "Right. The police have no free units to investigate."

Storm turned expectantly to Xavier. "Professor?"

He gave a nod of approval and Storm set off to ready the jet.

Logan watched her go and creased an eyebrow. "Since when did the X-Men work crowd-control?"

Xavier returned the hint of a smile.

"Coming, Logan?" Scott invited.

He looked to Xavier for his opinion but the professor was leaving that decision to him. Logan regarded his fists in consideration. To Scott it looked like he needed to vent some anger.

"Why not?" Logan said at last. "I could use the exercise."

They began to leave for duty.

In passing, Scott added; "I noticed."

**---------------**

Belts buckled. Zips fastened. Boots went on and hands were shoved into tight leather gloves.

Scott replaced his shades with the one-eyed visor.

Storm threw on her mini-cape and assembled with Cyclops and Rogue.

SHING

The trio turned to see Logan in the black leather X-suit examining his claws.

Rogue's heart heaved with joy. "Look out, baddies, Wolverine's in town tonight."

They moved into the hanger bay beneath the basketball court.

"I'll start her up," said Storm, moving up the ramp into the jet. Rogue followed her up.

Cyclops and Wolverine stopped in the doorway.

Scott regarded Logan in the uniform. "Looks a little tight. …Too much Canadian steak up north?"

The Wolverine growled back at him.

Scott's mouth burst into a great fat smile.


	5. Crash The Party 1

- _**Marvel Heroes **_**-**

**-- Crash the Party: Daredevil meets Spider-Man --**

At the centre of a herd of monsters, Daredevil was lost in the thick of it. He swung his batons to fend them off but he was completely overwhelmed by shear numbers. He tried to beat them back with the billy-clubs and quickly chose to combine them into the longer two-stick baton.

He threw back his arm and decked a vamp with it, swung forward again to strike one across the chest. He spun and clubbed the freak's left knee, switched his grip on the two-stick, and tripped the guy's other leg. The vampire buckled and fell to the concrete floor. The Devil cracked the baton down on his body. He came up spinning the club to take on more.

Spider-Man dropped through the tear in the ceiling onto the upper level gangway, landing in his typical pose. He heard the commotion below and moved to the rail.

"Looks like someone's havin' a bad night."

Daredevil whipped the club around feverishly, his limbs beginning to burn. He'd kill for a tub of percocet to numb his feelings. A red & blue figure dropped in behind him and he spun, splitting the club in two, and beat at the attacker.

Spider-Man worked his arms like crazy to block the hard sticks until his forearms threatened to burst. Spidey moved fast and caught the madman by the wrists. He leapt with dexterity and kicked both feet into the crimson-clad clubber. The Devil wheeled back, struggling with the wild cacophony of noise around him to make sense of his surroundings. With focus he soon identified his latest lightning-fast attacker.

"You? …You're Spider-Man." Daredevil turned and whacked a club against the head of an oncoming fang-face. He spun back to sense Spidey perform a twirling-kick handstand combo on another.

"The costume's a give-away, huh?" Spidey quipped sarcastically.

Daredevil had no idea about the costume. "Actually–"

Another attack came and they each fended-off a set of opponents.

"And you?" Spider-Man called.

He offered a hand. "Daredevil."

Spidey took it and used it to propel himself feet-first into a hissing creep. He landed in a Spidey-pose. "Daredevil? …They had another drawing of you in the _Bugle_ today. Non-too flattering, though. I always thought you were a mutant."

They exchanged more blows with the hostile crowd then the Devil turned to Spidey, somewhat perturbed. "I'm _not_ a mutant."

Spider-Man's hands went up, "Okay. But you should think about getting an unofficial photographer. Those _Bugle_ artists are an imaginative bunch, alright. "

"I'm a little busy thinking about a hundred-and-one other problems right now."

"Oh, right."

They were surrounded again.

Spidey gave the Devil a nudge; "You wanna tag-team 'em?"

Devil threw out a tag-hand. Spidey slapped it and the pair split, heading into the affray in their own unique way.

Daredevil went in with a roundhouse and brawled his way through the crowd.

Spider-Man went airborne and twisted, opening his legs and extending a fist at an enemy.

Spider-Man's skill with the web and the Devil's skill with the billy-clubs began to drive the attackers into ever-wider circles around them. Eventually, those circles receded and began to part. It seemed like the break they needed just in the nick of time.

The sea of beastly men moved aside to reveal a line of guys with guns of every shape and colour.

The duo cursed together.

---------------

**-- The Call t****o Kingpin --**

Takeshi stamped out a thin cigar and climbed the metal steps up to the second level of the designated warehouse. He wouldn't have to hang around long, he hoped. Just check in and make sure it had gone down as expected. His cellphone rang. He tugged it from his inside pocket, snapped it open and answered; "Moshi moshi. Mr Fisk! …I'm at the warehouse now…"

Takeshi entered the rusty metal warehouse door onto the upper-level walkway and was welcomed by a thousand gunshots.

"…I'm about to collect his body and have it sent right over. …Listen–" He extended the phone over the balcony rail.

Bullets rang out throughout the building.

Takeshi's face slumped as he witnessed not one but two heroes below fighting hard. Not beaten.

Daredevil ducked and rolled and leaned out of the path of oncoming bullets, his super-senses telling him just the right path to take. Above him, his arachnid team-mate corkscrewed through the air, slugs zipping within millimetres of his limbs.

Takeshi looked on stunned. His hands fell at his sides and he cut Fisk off.

Spider-Man leapt onto the upper level and spotted the Japanese intruder. Takeshi, in haste, let the phone fall from his grip and he burst out onto the stairwell. A fiery gust of air greeted him and his jaw dropped as he witnessed the arrival of the X-Jet.

Takeshi spat his infuriation and made a hurried getaway.


	6. Crash The Party 2

- _**Marvel Heroes **_**-**

**-- X Crash the Party --**

Spider-Man and the Daredevil backed up into each other and glanced around. They'd found themselves in the centre of the storage facility in the circle of a growling rabid gang with weapons ranging from makeshift bats to ninja swords. Spidey even spotted one with inflatable hands.

Devil rotated his two-stick and pulled it open to form a short staff.

Spider-Man gave him a tap; "I don't think these guys are altogether normal."

"I'm getting that."

Just when they began to wonder how deep they were in over their heads… the extraordinary happened.

A burst of red light preceded a shocking explosion that caught the attention of everyone.

At the rear wall of the facility, a haze of dust and smoke billowed in a breeze. The outside air was drifting in. The murky cloud thinned.

Standing in a clean-cut spherical hole in the metal sheet of the wall, Cyclops appeared poised with his finger on his visor-switch. Logan joined him to check out the scene inside. Storm and Rogue followed.

The X-Men had landed.

The Wolverine moved first and lashed out viciously with his fist. _Bring it on!_

The goons charged and Storm brought one to a stop with a boot to the knee. She gripped his jacket by the shoulders and flipped him closer to the hole in the wall. Drawing on her power to manipulate the skies, she reached out to the distant clouds above the City, first inciting a rage in them, then channelling the force of natural electricity.

The goon rearranged his jacket and cocked his head ponderously at the hot, white-haired, white-eyed, African piece of ass. A sheering bolt of lightning snaked through the hole with a crack and discharged its force into him. He went into a lathering fit and collapsed.

Spider-Man shot out a web and caught the aimed gun of a Familiar. With a tug, he yanked the weapon into his own hand, released the magazine, and tossed it back into the thug's face with a smack.

With a high-kick, Rogue caught an attacker in the head then turned straight into a low-kick at the gut of another.

Daredevil made good use of his staff to whack a creep ahead and one behind. He twirled it, dropped, and rammed one end into a Familiar's gut.

A drooling animal of a man advanced on Cyclops. He boxed his temple and whipped up a knee into the stomach. A second guy – normal looking - came at him with a gun fixed right at his head. He wouldn't reach his visor in time…

The Familiar gasped as a long silver point skewered his chest suddenly and withdrew. He toppled to reveal the killer. In an almost casual pose, with the point of a sword resting against the concrete floor, stood a dark-toned man dressed in a long black coat wearing a serious array of silver weapons and a tactical vest. His eyes were masked by shades.

He'd killed a man there was no doubt. But their enemies were many and Cyclops clocked him reluctantly as an ally and returned to his own fight.

Blade saw a girl – one of the leather-clad group – a vampire moving in on her rear. She hadn't noticed. Blade slung the sword over his shoulder into its sheath and pulled his mach. He aimed carefully.

Wolverine scanned for Rogue and spotted her. She was okay. That was good. Then he saw the punk with a gun aiming her way. There were people here that weren't quite people. He could smell it. And this guy stank. He yelled across the warehouse to warn her.

Rogue turned, saw the danger, and protected herself violently.

Blade swivelled to see the fierce hairy X-Man lunge toward him and rolled his gun around. Wolverine reached out in time to deflect the weapon. They looked into each other's eyes with animal bloodlust. Blade growled and bore his canines.

Wolverine snarled. "You just made your first mistake, Bub."

Blade had expertise in Karate, Krav Maga, Hanmoodo, Muay Thai, Kung Fu, Espada y Daga, Jing Quan Do, Straight Boxing and good old African Rough & Tumble and, like Bruce Lee with Jeet Kun Do, he threw all that in the mix and delivered it in his own street-fighting, whatever-does-the-job package. But nothing seemed to phase the beast.

His horn-haired opponent was a brawler – not good with speed – but his close-quarters hits were stronger than any vampire he'd met. And the guy could take a pounding.

They grappled almost on top of each other. Blade tried all his tight-fighting techniques to put the beast's arms out of commission long enough for him to put a bullet through him but for all his arm-trapping and joint-locking he was damned if he could break even a pinkie finger.

The Daywalker decided to treat his enemy like a robot. He took a foot and cut into the guy's inner shin, disturbing his balance and struck out with a head-butt to shake his vision. Then, with a zigzag motion, he slapped the man's arms aside. Perfect–

BANG!

Logan's head whipped back and he whirled around and crashed to his knees.

There was still movement to Blade's surprise and he kept the gun trained. The kneeling figure clutched at his forehead, groaning. Within moments, the groaning ceased and Blade watched the man's steady hands lower to his sides.

Wolverine's wounded face – a savage mask – rolled around to burn the Daywalker with his strong vengeful eyes.

Blade almost staggered back in shock. It was Frost and Nomak all over again.

The Wolverine drew himself up.

Blade tensed and lowered the barrel of his mach, uncertainty etched across his face. He watched the man as he pressed the red flesh around the hole in the centre of his forehead and squeezed out the bullet. The hollow-point should have blown an even bigger hole going out the back of his head but now it went clanging wastefully, flattened to a silver dime, to the hard ground.

Blade looked up in time to catch the last moment of the bullet-wound healing out of existence.

Wolverine rubbed his arm across his head erasing all signs of the wound.

"That was your _last_ mistake." He threw his arms out and released the claws. SHING

Blade slung his gun into the holster and made a move for his sword. But Wolverine was already on him like a roaring lion. Logan slammed into Blade and buried both sets of claws deep into the sides of his ribs. Blade growled with the pain through gritted teeth and shoved him away. The six seven-inch knives left his body and breath returned to him. It hurt like a bitch with a hot poker up his ass but Blade snatched his sword and sliced at the animal with the power behind both hands.

Logan raised his forearm and the edge of the acid-etched weapon cut into his flesh and stopped at the protected bone.

They were locked together; both equally amazed at the other's strength, when danger struck both their senses. They were under attack.

Blade freed his sword and brought it around elegantly, impaling a vamp through the abdomen. He watched as Wolverine dug his claws into the collar of another. It was at that moment he realised the animal was on the home-team.

The vampire cursed at Logan and felt the holes under his neck.

"Hey, Scissorhands."

Wolverine turned his frown to Blade and saw they were fighting on the same side.

Blade, his sword still impaled through the writhing goon, pointed to his victim's chest. "Go for the heart… _Bub_."

He took the advice and stabbed a single claw into the ribs. …Again the punk gave a cry of pain and shot Logan with a wounded glare.

"Never studied anatomy?" Blade taunted. "Those things silver?"

"Adamantium. What's the difference?"

"Until you learn how to find the heart maybe you should go for the head." Blade dislodged his sword in a graceful display that decapitated his impaled victim. As he sheathed the sabre and pulled his gun the creature broiled, combusted, and toasted to a smoking clump of ash at his feet.

Logan couldn't take his eyes off the cremated remains.

Cyclops, struggling to fend off the insanely resilient crowd, came up to Logan's position.

The Wolverine, relishing the idea of all-out carnage, thought '_F––k it_' and ran his claw through his opponent's throat. The head was embers before it hit the floor and the rest burned away as quickly.

Cyclops looked to the fizzling ash in astonishment and looked to Wolverine. Logan looked back at him. They both looked across at Blade.

"Vampires," he explained simply, with amusement at their naivety, and drove into the crowd firing the gun.

Both X-men shrugged. For Logan it was the perfect opportunity to wreak bloody havoc. He tore away into the vampires with all claws blazing. For Cyclops it removed many moral restrictions. He rolled the dial on his ear and blasted the monsters with the full force of his concentrated optic energy.

The cool evening breeze outside pushed a gentle draft of air through the girders above Storm's head and she used it. Half a dozen attacking vampires and a Familiar or two were dragged up into the swirl of a small controlled tornado. They hit the roof and fell scattered about the place. The whirlwind kicked up dirt and ash into a dust devil that swept the floor.

The Daywalker drained his clip, reloaded, and drained that clip. The gun was empty. He put it away. Blade dodged quickly as a fist sailed by his head. He caught the arm, pulled a stake, swept the suck-head out and staked him on the ground. He stood, pushed forward with a boot that cracked a vamp in the chest, spun, pushed forward to stake another vamp, twirled and dropped. A Familiar took aim at him with a rifle. Blade staked the first vamp, came up, whirled, and threw the silver dart. It flew across an open space and speared the armed Familiar in the throat.

Logan gave a cut and a thrust and stopped. A young kid with an ugly set of fangs awaited him gripping a nasty looking kitchen knife that still had the store tag. But what got his attention was the lame-ass black T-shirt with the big white slogan: 'I'LL SLEEP WHEN I'M ASH'

Wolverine pierced the knife-wielding hand, moved it aside and said; "Take a nap." He stabbed the chest and watched him toast. "Got to the heart of that problem, didn't I?"

His fun had got the better of him. It was just the distraction he should have avoided. He realised this when the facts about vampires – how they operate, feed, spread – came to him in a blinding flash as a set of hungry teeth came from behind and bit into the meat of his neck.

He yelled out and punched three blackened claws into the creature's skull. The teeth released him and he shifted, punching the second set into the ribs. He found the heart alright that time too and the vampire fried.

Logan paused to let his insides settle. But something was wrong. His blood was burning. Something had invaded him. He folded and moaned at the sensation of battle within him between the virus and his immune system. Would it be too strong for him? Was his mutation enough to beat it?

He began to cool and his body came under control again. The bite was gone and Wolverine got to his feet. _Hell yeah_.

The vampires around him didn't look so cocky as before. He beckoned them. When none had the stones to come to him, he took his stones to them.

Spidey ran and leapt over a Familiar – webbing him – landed, and swung him sailing into the masses. He saw some of the more normal enemy fleeing the scene so he concentrated on the disfigured animal people. The ones, it would seem, who were vampires.

Rogue noticed two of the goons fleeing to the upper-level where there was a door and nothing stopping their escape. She followed them up the staircase onto the balcony and rushed them. She kicked out and fought well but the pair weren't normal people as she'd thought. Her arms were trapped behind her by one of them. The other told him to get rid of her. What happened next was the last thing she expected and it caught her by surprise. The teeth sunk into her neck and the reaction was instant.

The bloodsucker turned blue and shrivelled like a monster prune. His companion exhaled in bewilderment and pushed himself out through the door.

Rogue let out a silent scream as the prune became a bonfire on her back. He dissolved around her. She collapsed, her breathing coming in rasps. She couldn't move. The whole essence of her assailant had invaded her and it was more than her body could handle. She tried to move the hand beside her face and doing so revealed an object on the walkway next to her. Weakly, she put her hand over the object and with the last ounce of her energy she wrapped her leather fingers around it and closed her eyes.

"I think I'm running outta juice," Cyclops said quietly to Storm. He saw the concern on her face. After all, it was something she'd never heard him say before. And it was true; the energy behind his eyes had always been like a bottomless barrel of boom-juice. It was a certain Dr. Hank McCoy who had theorised the source of his optic power to be the rays of the sun and the constant penetrating nature of daylight kept him topped up to the max. But this night had used more of his power than any night-time occasion he could recall. The fight was starting to give him the hell of a headache and his eyes grew sore. He just wanted to lay down and close his tired orbs. But he couldn't. They were still surrounded by the dozens. He wished he was alone so that he could just rip the visor off and destroy the whole place. He tried to hold them back by cutting a trench in the concrete with a ring of red fire.

Daredevil made wide strokes with his staff to fan the crowd but he was beginning to wear down. He'd taken a few nasty hits to his ribs and jaw and pain, like a charmer's snake, was slowly rearing its ugly head. To make things worse there were still enough of the enemy to last him the week and he was sure his wrist was sprained. He'd been glad for the web-slinger's help. Had praised the Lord when the mutants showed up. But now it seemed his luck had all been spent.

The second storey door opened once again and a grey bearded figure drifted in with a worn old carry-bag like a hobo looking for a place to crash. He stepped over the lifeless body of Rogue and moved along the wall watching the slamdancing in the mosh-pit below. Vampires were coming around the walkway on both sides.

"What's up, F–––heads?" said Whistler with a sneer. "This a private shindig, or is every f–––er invited?"

Whistler dumped the sack and removed two UV grenades from his jacket pockets, lit them up, and rolled them either side along the gangway.

The flash went off, as did the vamps, and a Familiar on the stairway pegged him and moved to fire on his position.

Whistler dug into the bag and raised a G36 assault rifle – pumping a dozen slugs into the goon's chest with a single pop of the trigger. The man flailed and rolled over the side of the stairs.

Whistler slammed the gun to the deck and dug into the bag for a new weapon. He lifted out a device rather like an old German stick grenade with a long grip and a cylindrical bomb section covered in silver spikes. The shatter-bomb. He gave it a twist to activate it and hurled it over the rail to the lower floor. Whistler pulled back to the wall with the bag and gun and crouched for safety. More fang-freaks and sympathisers came up on the walkway and he let rip with the G36.

The shatter-bomb arced, turning in the air as it fell…

Blade reacted first – pushing away from the centre of the warehouse. He caught a Familiar by the scruff of his collar and, with a few neatly placed slaps, made a shield of him.

Wolverine passed by Storm and spotted the missile. He saw Blade protect himself too. Guessing he knew more about what was going down than anyone here, The X-Man took the vampire-hunter's lead. Logan moved quickly to wrap himself around Storm with his back to the falling object.

His warning-sense alerted Spider-Man and he dived behind a packing crate. Daredevil got the sense something was up from the other's reactions. He tensed and waited for… something.

Cyclops hit the deck.

…The edge of the bomb touched the floor…

The shatter-bomb exploded – sending silver darts shooting through the structure. Vampires and Familiars were impaled in a mess of fire, ash, blood, and screams. The Devil danced around the sailing darts. Blade stooped behind the goon and held him up as a screen. The man cried out as a sharp point entered his back. Wolverine held tight to Storm and took one in the shoulder. One reached the upper level and buried into the wall above Whistler's head.

The last spike to leave the bomb cruised half a metre from the floor and straight toward Cyclops. Scott was on his back, leaning on his firing arm when he saw the speeding silver thorn. He slapped his left hand across the side of his head and released a stream of ruby juice.

All went quiet.

Whistler returned to the railing. There were still plenty of vampires to mosh. He went and grabbed another new weapon from the bag, still in the style of the German grenade. Whistler activated a UV bomb. A kick-ass UV bomb. He drew back to fling it over the balcony…

People were moving about again and Cyclops scrambled to his feet. He wondered who the insane fool was who threw the dart bomb and, looking up, he saw the tramp with a second bomb. He aimed his visor and reached for the activator–

He froze when he felt the sword at his throat. The vampire-hunter had him.

Wolverine's unarmed fist came around and thrust against Blade's neck.

Blade snarled at the Mexican stand-off; "Cool it."

Whistler released and the UV bomb ascended to the ceiling.

It reached the apex of its flight.

Spider-Man craned his head to the heights. Daredevil waited once again. And the X-Men looked on anxiously.

The bomb went off.

A blinding cobalt flash filled with sizzling screams engulfed the entire facility.

* * *

I had a problem here… At first I had Logan's claws down as being useless against vamps as they aren't silver in the Blade world of vampires. Then I remembered Blade used a bone to kill his mother in BLADE 1. So I figured anything piercing a vamp's heart will kill them and Blade just uses silver because they have an allergy to it and silver stakes look cool. Just thought I'd explain my logic there in case anyone felt there was a problem too. 


	7. AfterParty Aftermath

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- After-Party Aftermath --**

Sizzled, burned and grilled corpses littered the warehouse in a field of ashen death.

Daredevil soon found the body of Baiter among the wreckage. He'd certainly met with justice.

Spider-Man drifted through the war-field in amazement at the whole event.

Logan walked away from the stand-off and kicked a boot into some burnt vampire remains. The flames licked up. Unzipping his X-jacket, he removed a squashed cigar and bent to light it in the fire.

Satisfied with the result, Blade let Cyclops free. All Scott was interested in was the scruffy vagabond walking across the concrete towards him.

"Are you out of your mind?" he scolded.

"Abraham Whistler, actually. And this's Blade."

Scott stood aghast. "I don't care who you are. You coulda killed us all with that thing."

The shatter-bomb, Whistler thought, and shrugged it off. "How the hell was I to know you decided to hold a superhero convention in the middle of a vampire gang-bang?"

Spidey watched the exchange. Logan walked casually up to him and checked out his red and blue costume.

Logan made an attempt to contain his humour. "That… spandex?"

Spider-Man saw how cool the other guy's black leather outfit was and suddenly became embarrassed at himself, uttering a soft 'um…' and 'er…'

Logan chuckled and walked on.

Spidey whispered under his breath; "'Least I don't look like a Gorilla in a gimp parade."

Logan's ear twitched. He rolled his head back with a SHING

Spider-Man threw up his hands. "Did I say 'Gorilla'? …More like a Sloth."

Wolverine turned on him with the clawed fist. Spidey ducked quickly, and fired a short web from his left hand onto Logan's left wrist. He rolled behind Logan, came up, and shot another web-line from right hand to right wrist and jammed his foot against Logan's spine.

The Wolverine was trapped with his arms pulled back and his spine under pressure. Logan seethed and twisted his claws - both sets now - so that his pinkie-claws reach over the strands of web… and cut them.

Spidey fell back to the floor and Logan wheeled on him–

Cyclops stepped between them. "If you're both finished?" He sounded like a father tired of his rowdy brood.

Storm approached completely distracted by more urgent matters. "Where's Rogue?"

The X-Men straightened out.

Cyclops and Storm separated to search the whole floor desperately. Logan used his animal senses and checked for a scent. It soon led him up the stairs to the second level. He moved furiously.

Daredevil joined Spider-Man as they both acknowledged their shock and tiredness.

Whistler stepped up to Blade with a nod of 'how'd-ya-do'.

"You took your time getting here, old man," Blade said in his deep raspy tone.

"Might help next time if ya tell a fella where ya goin', smart-ass."

Cyclops and Storm met back with no luck. Scott was responsible for the entire team and the thought of something happening to Rogue, the new recruit, the baby, well… he couldn't even bring himself to go down that road. It was more than he could live with. Storm's eyes were already moist with the threat of a breakdown when they saw Logan descending the stairs with Rogue lying prone in his arms. They ran to the base of the steps.

Logan was wet-eyed as he rested her down on the cold concrete floor and held her delicate head. She was still alive, he knew that, but not good.

Her face lolled toward him and the lips curled back in a hiss to reveal a set of razor sharp fangs.

Logan jumped up and clutched his head. "Oh, God…" He couldn't bare it.

Blade pushed in and Whistler knelt by her side to examine.

"Pretty nasty suck-job," he concluded. "She's already startin' t' turn."

Cyclops shook his head despairingly. "That's just her power – she absorbs life-force through skin contact."

Whistler removed a syringe containing a white cloudy substance from his coat. It was the injection he always kept for himself if the worst happened.

The X-men tensed.

"Hey–!" Storm reached out to stop the Hillbilly.

Blade grabbed her interfering arm gently. She hit him with fierce blazing eyes that whitened over. He removed his shades and turned to face her eye-to-eye. "Relax," he breathed softly.

She saw something in his eyes that wasn't within the rest of him and understood why he wore the sunglasses. They hid the humanity. The feeling. The subtle hint of warmth he was now permitting her to view. She relaxed.

Whistler cleared the syringe of air. "I'm just gonna give her a shot of garlic essence – try to halt the viral infection."

"Watch her skin," Logan warned, almost weeping.

Whistler, careful not to touch her skin, punctured her neck with the long thin needle and gave her the full shot.

Storm looked to Blade. "Viral infection?"

"The vampirism," he said. "It's like a disease."

"But will she be alright?"

A long silence followed.

Blade replaced the shades and cut her off.

Whistler paused and looked at Blade mournfully before turning to Storm. "I won't lie to ya… it dudn't look good. The shot'll give her a chance… but it's never a good chance. …I'm sorry."

Cyclops shoved through. "We need to get her back to medical." He heaved her up in his arms and an object fell from her grasp and clattered to the ground.

Cyclops carried her off quickly as Logan reached for the object – a cellphone - and dropped it into Daredevil's nearby hand. He went after Scott.

Storm eyed the phone and asked the Devil; "Whose is that?"

He opened his mouth, handling it awkwardly. Matt Murdock had no way of reading the LCD screen. He tapped a couple of buttons that may have opened the menu and passed it casually across to Spider-Man.

"It's not hers?" Daredevil asked.

Storm shook her head. "She doesn't bring one out."

Spider-Man flicked through the menu options and opened the address book. "We got some numbers stored in here. …They're all in Chinese or something. Wait, here's one: …Fisk–"

"Fisk?" The Devil grew taller before them.

"Yeah," Spidey confirmed, "Fisk. Mean somethin' to ya?"

"Wilson Fisk." His teeth gritted together. "He's the Kingpin! This's all the Kingpin's doing."

"Not all," Blade rasped. "I've been tracking a big-league vampire from Japan. He's here to do a job for a contact named 'Kingpin'. That makes this his phone right here."

Daredevil tried to piece it all together. "Then… this was a death trap. …For me. Kingpin got loose and he wants to put me out of the picture before I find where he's hiding."

Spidey gave him a friendly pat on the arm. "Don't worry. We'll get him, big-guy."

Storm took the phone. "If this is the kind of chaos he can cause, you can count on the help of the X-Men. We can take this back to our base of operations to track Fisk's number."

That was all the incitement the Devil needed. "Let's go."

Storm led him out toward the jet.

Spider-Man joined them. "I'll take a slice of that pie, guys. Wait up."

Blade began to follow until Whistler caught him by the shoulder. "You goin' with these mutates?"

"Right now, this 'Kingpin' is our only link to Takeshi. And I want him. You comin'?"

"I'm Storm, by the way," she said on the way out.

Daredevil and Spider-Man introduced themselves in return.

Storm glanced back at Blade and Whistler who were starting to tag along behind. "And those two?"

Spidey cocked his head back. "Grumpy and Dopey, I think."


	8. Regroup

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- Regroup --**

"She's stable. For now," Scott Summers said gravely. His quartz-lensed sunglasses turned from the health monitor beside Rogue's bed and to the peaceful girl. The medical device beeped with the rhythm of Rogue's heart. They were beneath Xavier's School for the Gifted in the cold sterile underground lair of the X-Men.

Blade had carried the girl in, watching her carefully. The bald cripple had done some psychic work on her leaving him distressed and confused. He'd told them he couldn't locate her. That her mind was a chaotic mixture of the creature that had attacked her and some new spirit within.

He planned to work with her further to try and bring her mind under control. They had her sedated for the time being.

Scott looked up intently. "Let's try to find the man responsible for this."

The group moved out of the Infirmary through the grand circular door into the corridor.

Blade and Storm were the last out and she halted him at the door. "Wait – you're hurt."

"I'm fine," he insisted.

Storm reached into his coat and her fingers found the claw wounds in his side. She drew back to find blood. Her eyes met his tenderly. "It doesn't look fine."

Mildly he reassured her; "It'll heal."

"In the meantime at least let me clean you up and give you a dressing."

Blade remained tensed and guarded.

"Take your own advice," she teased, "…relax."

His eyes lingered in hers for a moment before he gave a defeated chuff.

"Good," she said. "Now take off your shirt."

Startled, he recoiled and looked at her agape.

"…Today."

Blade removed his coat…

**----------**

Professor Xavier led the group into the Mission Room. Another cold blue room. A great disc, like a table, occupied the centre of the room but the surface was made up of tiny metal spots. It reminded the visitors of a large version of the retro pin-art toys that were no use for anything other than making the shape of a hand. Daredevil, Spider-Man and Whistler stood around this device while Scott took the cellphone to a computer terminal, opening a program and entering Fisk's number.

Xavier examined all the gathered faces and a million surface thoughts came to him at once.

Logan, leaning by the door, was waiting for Rogue to be alone. He planned to give her his power to heal and risk his own life. Xavier couldn't bring himself to object with his choice. It might even work out. The Hillbilly was quite guarded but he caught flashes of images. He saw the man's family. Their faces. The vampire drifter. Death. This was a long time ago. The pain still stinging. But one thing numbed it. Blade. The vampire hunter he'd trained and raised from childhood was like a son to him. He was proud of the man Blade had become. But he knew this child would also die fighting the enemy someday. It saddened him. Whistler hoped he wouldn't have to live to see that day. With Spider-Man, he saw the struggle. The battle of conscience regarding his stressful private life. The enmity between the man he was by day and the hero he became at night. Daredevil was recalling the time he heard someone mention vampires before but didn't know whether to take it seriously as he'd not heard of them since. The professor caught something else on the surface of his mind. He was worried about the first day of an upcoming trial. He felt himself to be a prosecution attorney who was out of his depth. The state had their best lawyer pitted against him and he already knew how the jury would be manipulated. Xavier began to feel intrusive and he blocked their minds from his psychic antennae.

Scott worked at the computer. The cell's signal was a tricky one to track down. It was being bounced around the world from Malaysia to Scotland to Austria and on. But, with the help of a program designed by Dr. Hank McCoy, he was able to neutralise the interference and locate the signal's source.

"Got it," he reported after a time. "The Pyramid Tower overlooking Central Park West. I ran the number through the system and the cell is registered under the name Kevin Fitzwilliam. The Pyramid Tower too. According to National Archive records… this Fitzwilliam didn't exist prior to March of this year."

"Kingpin was busted out of the Florence penitentiary in February," said Daredevil.

"I can't imagine that's a coincidence," the professor acknowledged.

Daredevil agreed. "I'll bet my money that Fitzwilliam is Wilson Fisk."

The door opened and Storm entered with Blade.

"By now he must know his plan didn't work out," Xavier considered. "He may even know we have this phone. We must strike back tonight."

Everyone agreed.

Scott moved over to the disc-shaped table in the middle of the room. "Now let's bring up a schematic of that area and co-ordinate our approach."

The visitors watched in amazement as the surface of the table – just like the pin-art toys they imagined – came to life in 3 dimensions; recreating a portion of Central Park West.

Logan slipped out as the door slid shut.

**----------**

Logan, his uniform top removed to reveal a white vest with the dog tags chained around his neck, stepped into the Infirmary. Rogue's bed was empty. He followed his nose and found her perched atop a cabinet in the darkest corner of the lab. He took a few steps closer to her and he stopped. Something was very wrong. The hairs of his neck stood like the spines of a porcupine. The hulking round door rolled shut.

"I'm thirsty, Logan." Her voice drifted down to him in a hiss and he knew, just from the slightly teasing sexual tone, that Rogue was gone. The vampire was speaking to him now.

She dropped to the floor. Her hair hung down freely and the white fringe covered part of her face. She wore only a medical gown and she allowed Logan to see a hint of her smooth, naked rear. It was unbearable for him to see her in such a condition.

"I got the cure for that right here." He inclined his head to the side.

"You offer your neck to me… such a cliché. There are other organs just ripe for eating. But we both know I can't. What with your power, and my power."

"Think it's gonna be any easier with anyone else?"

"Maybe not," she admitted. "But I'll still be Vampire when I'm done." She licked her dry lips. "You're lookin' a little desperate there, kiddo. And I guarantee you won't leave this room a Blood-sucker." He slowly closed his fists and prepared to release the deadly claws.

She noticed and put a teasing finger to her mouth. "You won't kill your sweet Lolita."

"Honey," Logan said, killing all humanity from his voice, "she's already dead."

She frowned and her body became rigid. She took a step toward the door.

SHING

Logan popped his claws and Rogue jumped back. Her mouth drew back in a razor blade grimace of fangs. He moved back and blocked the exit. He could see she was shaking like a drug user desperate for a fix.

"I'll bet you can hear it," he said, trying to shepherd her. "The blood pounding through my veins."

Rogue stirred uneasily. "Let me out."

"You know what I got is good, too," continued Logan. "Germ-free. Nothing purer on the market."

"Shut up."

"Mmm. Bet you can taste it already."

"Logan…"

"I'm a gourmet blood-fest on legs and I'm right here!" He opened himself up.

"Don't make me have to finish you, Logan!" she roared.

"Bite Me!"

Rogue hisses madly at him and made a sudden line for the door. He attacked. Desperately, she caught hold of his claws to keep him at bay but he forced his arms around her and pulled her to him.

She struggled and cried out then, with one last whine, she bit into his neck.

He held her there, keeping her head tight against him. Feeding her as much as it would take…

And then it wasn't just the blood that drained from him. She started to tear out his very life through the vessels of his neck.

His blood worked through her. His power healing the claw-wounds in her hands and destroying the vampire disease.

They collapsed to the floor. Logan's lungs had ceased and he felt consciousness sloping away.

Rogue lay gasping on the floor until a rush of air filled her lungs and she broke down in a fit of horrified and relieved tears. Logan fought to drag himself across to her. He reached out but he couldn't touch. Instead he pulled the sheet from the bed and draped it around her. He held her tightly on the floor beside the bed as she wept in his arms.

**----------**

The X-Men were milling about making preparations for their late-night mission as Remy LeBeau stepped out of the elevator and, for the first time, entered the X-lair. Professor Xavier had allowed him to enter on this occasion to visit Rogue. It had taken some effort however. Perhaps, he considered, Xavier didn't trust him. He was a thief after all. But the professor could read minds. He must know that Remy had put all that behind him. Well… apart from the card tricks he played on the kids. Maybe not the best of cheats to pull when the headmaster of your school is psychic. Right now he didn't care about any of that. Rogue had been hurt on duty and he couldn't believe the stories he was hearing. He had to see her. He had to know if she was alright.

As he arrived at the Infirmary, the drifter they called Wolverine was exiting the door. Remy knew of him. The part-time X-Man who his girlfriend had had a crush on. Why was he in there, he wondered. He gave Logan a severe eyeballing as they passed. Remy walked in to find Rogue zipping up her leather uniform. His breath escaped him. He'd never seen her in the suit before. It was tighter than he'd imagined. Very tight. Then he realised Wolverine had just been there and now she looked fine. Had the hairy animal done for her something Remy never could?

"Y' look well," he observed, trying to keep jealousy from his voice.

She turned and smiled a little sadly at him. "I'm healed."

That confirmed it. Wolverine had healed her. Touched her. Remy wanted nothing more than to be able to touch her with his own hands and that ape got away with it any time he liked. But, he considered, Wolverine had done a good thing because now his girl was well and safe. He owed the man.

She came and put her leather hands in his and looked lovingly into his impossibly blue eyes.

"I hear crazy t'ings, Chere," he said. "There really vampires out there?"

She paused with reflection. Her eyes were wet. "They're out there. And they're way too real."

He tried to cheer her up; "Whatya say Remy tuck you in a nice comfy bed wid a hot drink and relax?"

"I'm going back out there," she replied hesitantly.

"What? That guy suck yer brain out through yer neck? … They vampires, Chere. Y' said it yo'self."

"Remy…"

"Don't be crazy, huh?"

"Remy, I have to go. It's my duty, baby. I'm an X-man."

He couldn't believe it. She was going to get herself killed. But what could he do? She was a soldier now. And he … he was just a student. Just the boyfriend. Resignedly, he groaned; "Where the hell y' gotta go so late at night?"

"The guy running the vampire show's got a place near Central Park in a pyramid tower or something. We need to act fast. I'm sorry."

She walked past him, letting her hand linger in his until the distance between them broke the link.

Remy was left alone in the med-lab staring at the space she'd occupied.

**----------**

"Oh, Scott," the professor rolled up to him as the man was about to swap his shades for the bulky visor, "I almost forgot…" Xavier handed him a small package, "…Hank sent this for you. I believe it's the prototype you asked for."

Scott opened the box like a child at Christmas to find a new slim-line visor nestled inside. This one activated at the temples rather than with huge earmuffs. He grinned and slipped it on. "Cool." He put on his long black X-coat and readied the Blackbird for flight.

**---------------**

Daredevil moved across the rooftops of New York City and around a high water tower. Behind him, the X-Jet hovered overhead in exhaust fumes. He had told them he needed to pick something up on the way and they had been happy to hang on while he popped home. He'd stopped them far enough to keep his address secret. He went from roof to roof until the Jet was out of sight then he dropped down to a ledge and unlocked his secret door. In his apartment, he went quickly through the secret area behind a wall, picking up a sweat-free mask and a fresh set of clubs – along with one weapon he took from a hidden compartment. On his way out he stopped, thought for a moment, and went out to his bathroom to load up on painkillers.

**----------**

Cyclops leant back from the window of the Jet and settled into the pilot's seat. No sign of the Devil yet. Logan sat behind him with his head rested right the way back; eyes firmly closed in pain.

On the Blackbird's fantastic all-surround radio system the warbling tones of Celine Dion crooned as she explained how her heart would go on.

Blade, too, ground his teeth over it.

Logan sighed heavy and tilted forward to Cyclops. "You wanna change the station?"

Cyclops gave him a sideways look. "I happen to like–"

"Change the station."

"Why should–"

"_Change_ it," Logan insisted.

Cyclops looked across to Storm. Her face pleaded with him to let it go and he huffed, switching over to K-Rock.

Logan sat back, grinning, and took the poised fist away from the back of Scott's chair. At least he didn't have to give him the claws. Celine Dion had enough to answer for without murder thrown in. Logan glanced across to see Blade's slight smile of approval. He also noticed Rogue giving him a less-than-impressed glower. He gave a guilty cough and rested back.

Soon Daredevil returned and they set off on their mission.

Whistler leaned forward from his seat behind Blade with a hypo needle in his hand. "Time to shoot up."

Blade pulled away. "I don't need it."

"The hell you don't. You've lost a lot of blood. C'mon, this'll keep the edge off."

Blade remained defiant.

Whistler shoved the serum in his face. "Don't make me strap you down, Blade."

Reluctantly, Blade rolled up a sleeve and took the shot.

"A'ta, boy," Whistler said. "You'll feel like a stud bull in no time."

Blade gripped the armrest, closed his eyes and focused on taking the pain of the serum without showing a sign.

Whistler whispered to him: "Exactly whatya expectin' t' find goin' on this gangster hunt anyway?"

Blade – through grinding teeth – replied: "A lead." His pain subsided. "Besides, if Takeshi did a job for this Kingpin he's probably worth taking down. Don't you think?"

It was a valid point. But other things bothered the old man too. Whistler had seen the electricity between Storm and Blade. "Just don't let these mutated super-freaks drag your heals, 'kay?"

Daredevil leant across to them: "Have some respect, guys. They might surprise you."

Blade shot Whistler a look that said 'you just got a telling-off'. He looked to the sack at the old man's feet. "What's left in the goody bag?"

Whistler reached down for it. "A' guess you been good this year 'cos Santa's gotta li'l somethin' for ya in here. Friend o' mine built it. You can test it out tonight." He picked out a long silver gun with clear plastic parts that showed a mag of large bullets filled with a blue liquid.

Blade cocked a brow at Whistler.

"EDTA shotgun," he explained. "Remember those kick-ass injectors Karen Jenson made up for ya that time? Same thing but in a bullet. Should blow a few suck-mutants."

Blade gave an approving nod. "Nice."


	9. Finale 1

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- Finale: Fisk Tower --**

The X-Jet descended upon Central Park and landed silently in the Reservoir beside the South Meadow tennis courts. Moments later, the team of eight moved across the lawn and stopped in the shadow of the trees. The night had dropped icy cold. They looked across to the corner of Central Park West and Henry J Browne Boulevard where the grand Pyramid Tower stood. A tall sharp scraper with a ten-metre spire entirely lit with a silver-blue glow from within. Joined with the tower was a lower structure, square and made of brick. The roof of this was an amazing imitation of the French Louvre glass pyramid. A warmer brown glow illuminated the inside.

Spider-Man recognised the building at once. It used to be offices and an art gallery up until last November when it closed. The gallery section had been under the glass pyramid where the entrance was.

They moved across the street and Spider-Man led them to the glass double doors of the pyramid.

Blade checked the gear Whistler had given him on the flight. Twin EDTA pistols – holstered, fresh stakes, and the EDTA shotgun in-hand. He looked at the huge triangular face of the rooftop and up to the apex of the high skyscraper. It had the foreboding look of a bad-guy base of operations to him and he handed his long coat to Whistler who folded it into his carry-bag. Now he stood ready – in his blood-crimson shirt with his sword strapped to the tactical vest – for whatever faced them inside.

Cyclops looked to them all. "Everyone ready? Let's do it."

"Wait." Daredevil stopped them. His head tilted slightly. He could just make out a distinct electrical buzz around the door arch. "There's a hidden security system in place."

The team paused in contemplation. Until Logan barged through impatiently.

"Logan, wait," Storm urged him. But he broke through the door regardless and tripped the silent alarm.

Cyclops shook his head. Blade, however, thought the clawed mutant had the right idea and followed him in. Rogue sucked in her fear and plucked up a good helping of courage to go after them. She looked to Storm for back-up. The game was on now no matter what. Storm went with her. Daredevil gave his knuckles a crack and moved in with Whistler and Cyclops behind. Spider-Man was the last one to step through the doors and into the lobby of Pyramid Tower.

The lobby was made up entirely of imitation sandstone blocks – large smooth blocks of beige in a brickwork pattern. It was a Louvre rip-off without a doubt. Spidey checked the place out. From the entrance there were three ways to go. To the left and right were narrow corridors that turned off giving the illusion they were just recesses. Ahead was a short hallway leading to the silver doors of a small elevator. To either side of that there were again the deceiving corridors.

The group was walking ahead down the hall, The Hillbilly and Cyclops right in front of him between the opposing corridors, when his spider-sense kicked off. He pushed the two men suddenly and, just as suddenly, angled his body back. Whistler and Cyclops hit the stone floor as a large spinning weapon crossed between the corridors and buried into the wall.

Spidey saw the villain in the recess on his right and fired a web-ball. The attacker took the full force of it on his chin and went down.

Cyclops helped Whistler regain his feet and the group advanced through the hallway toward the elevator.

Then the game really began.

From both sides of the elevator doors a squad of hooded troops filed in. A group formed a kneeling line with guns trained and a second line stood behind. Fisk's private SWAT team.

"Freeze! Put your hands up!" A masked soldier yelled out.

The eight heroes looked to each other and shared a frown.

"How are we supposed to freeze _and_ put our hands up?" Rogue muttered.

Blade pumped the shotgun.

"Allow me," said Cyclops as he pushed to the front. It was time to take his prototype for a test drive. He reached up to his temple and initiated the visor.

The whole lobby blazed in a blinding red flare.

**---------------**

**-- The Birth o****f A Hero --**

It was late and the East Wing of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was mostly quiet. It was the boy's dorm and Greg 'Ultra-Vanish' Myers moved along the corridors to his shared room. Greg wore, as usual for him, a black balaclava hood that covered his face but allowed his hair to show, black gloves, baggy pants and a hoodie. Not a pore of his skin showed. He wore all this stuff most of the time for the sake of others as Greg had a problem with light. If there was too much of _it_… there was too little of _him_.

His nickname, Ultra-Vanish, was a play on Ultra-Violet as his skin and muscle tissue had a nasty habit of becoming translucent if the light was too high. Even the overhead light in a dark room was enough to give everyone a nice view of his bones and intestines. He was just happy the nickname had taken off as he'd previously been known as Greg 'Guts' Myers. He thanked the Lord for small mercies.

As he approached the room he shared with Remy LeBeau, the sound of loud music blasting on their stereo echoed along the corridor. It was another one of _those_ nights.

When Greg opened the door he found Remy sat sullen on his bed. Greg entered and shut the door. Cautiously, he moved over to the CD player and turned it down to a whisper. He did the same with the lights, swivelling the dimmer-switch to a faint dusky glow. Then he was free to lose the hood, sweater and gloves. He looked to the desk to see their computer was on and Remy's blue contact lenses were in their jar beside it. Funny, he thought, how they both hid their features in public.

"Whatya do wrong this time, Rem?"

The older kid looked up at him with his black eyeballs; his irises burning red. "Huh?"

"Well, you're feeling guilty about something or you wouldn't be trying to drown it in Hardcore."

Remy shrugged.

Greg knew if he'd been reprimanded for something he'd have plenty to say. "Is it about what happened to Rogue?"

Remy sighed. Why the hell was Greg so smart? He was only eleven years old but he was an intelligent kid. Probably the brightest in the whole school. And he could read people as if he was psychic.

"She got gifts, mon frere," he said without looking up. "But they can be a curse too, ya know? She wanna be a fighter. But… fighters don't live happy ever after, man. She too good for that game. She deserves a betta life. I know I ain't good enough for the gal – there ain't no one that good ,Grego. But… hell… I wanna try to be." His eyes were glazed and threatened to burst. "She gonna get herself killed tonight." His teeth gnashed at the thought.

Greg started to wonder if he should have left it at 'Wassup?'. He saw the image on the computer. "Whatya lookin' at?"

"That's where they went. Some Pyramid place. Whatever."

"Pyramid Tower? We almost went there last December. Professor Xavier was gonna take all the kids who didn't have anywhere to go for the holidays. I think it closed down before we could go."

"Yeah? Well now it's a den o' creeps."

"Can I ask you something?" Greg could see this was not Remy feeling sad or angry. This was Remy holding himself back and hating himself for it. When he'd first arrived at the school he'd been a real wild card. But not lately. Not since he met Rogue.

Remy didn't object to his question so he continued: "If you could do anything right now what would it be?"

Remy huffed. "I'd fly right over there like a knight on a white horse and rescue my gal from Hell. Sounds good, doesn't it?" He almost laughed.

"Why don't you?"

Remy looked up at him dubiously.

"Since when did Remy LeBeau ever let anything get in the way of what he wanted to do?"

Reflectively, he replied; "Never."

"Or you scared of getting a stiff talking-to from the professor?"

Another one? Remy did let out a laugh. "Nah."

"So… whatya gonna do about it?"

Greg watched him for almost a minute. A few seconds after he'd posed the question Remy had straightened up purposefully and disappeared into himself.

Then he came back. Fired up, wearing only his black shirt, blue pants and boots, he headed for the door. Just like that.

"Wait." Greg stopped him. "…It's freezing out there tonight."

Remy rolled his eyes and went to their shared closet. He picked out his purple body-warmer. "I'm takin' yo' coat, mon amie," he said and eased into the brown polyester-cotton rain mac.

"Just go easy with it," Greg pleaded.

Remy checked the coat over. "Greg…your coat sucks."

Myers waved him off. As if _he_ had any taste.

Remy picked up Greg's black gloves and slipped them on. "Okay? You satisfied?" He headed out a second time – but stopped himself.

He raised his gloved hands. "I can't wear these gloves, gumbo." Remy rubbed his covered fingers together. "I can't use my power."

Greg offered a quick solution with a handy pair of scissors. "What is your power, anyway?"

"I touch t'ings…and they go boom."

Greg quickly stepped away. Remy looked down to see the index and pinkie fingers had been cut from the gloves freeing four of his digits. He gave Greg a friendly tap. "Hey, you pretty good." For the third time he tried to leave.

"Wait!" Again Greg stopped him. "Here – put this on." Myers presented Remy with his unique protective balaclava hood.

Remy rolled his eyes again but, in haste and to satisfy his saviour, he threw it on. The balaclava itself had no top and Remy's wild hair protruded through. He yanked down on the 'clava to free his face.

"Now you look like a superhero," Greg said.

Remy caught himself in the mirror on his way out. "Man, if I go out there and it's _not_ Halloween… I'm comin' back to kick yo' ass."

Greg smiled. "Go!"

Remy wasted no more time and moved out.

"Good luck, Cajun," Myers said and turned the music up.

Remy LeBeau marched out of the room and through the corridor to The Prodigy's 'Spitfire'.

**---------------**

All those heavy-duty guns must have frightened Rogue, thought Whistler as he went over and put a small can of mace in her hand. "Silver nitrate and garlic mace."

She nodded and tucked it into her uniform.

Cyclops' optic blast had taken out the entire SWAT team but now they could hear more footsteps racing down the corridors. The footfalls became thunder and vampires oozed out into the hall like blood cells from severed veins. Blade unloaded on them with his EDTA shotgun and Whistler used the last rounds in his G36. Suck-heads screamed, wailed and cried as they exploded in gushes and burned up in flashes. The others watched as Blade threw down the empty gun and took out the last two vamps with a silver stake and a tangle of balletically executed moves.

The team of eight stepped up to the elevator and waited for the soft ping and the open doors. Logan let everyone else in so that he could be the first out. He couldn't wait to unleash himself. He noticed how cramped it was getting in the tight little box as Spider-Man eased in.

Spidey put his hand out to bar Logan's entry. "Sorry, pal, says maximum seven. We'll save a seat for ya." And the doors closed.


	10. Finale 2

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- Finale: Heroes & Villains --**

Logan stepped out of the elevator and entered an unbelievable place. The lift from the lobby only went one way and now they were underground beneath the glass pyramid in what had been a gallery. It was an immense beige cavern about forty metres on all sides and every surface from floor to ceiling was dressed with huge mock sandstone tiles. There were no windows. Lighting came from recessed strips on the high flat ceiling and from quarter-sphere lights high on the walls.

The eight of them were alone in the chamber on a terrace three metres high that skirted the four walls. Right before them a wide set of stone steps led down to the base level. A second set of steps at the opposite end of the gallery went up to the only other door. A larger door on the side that joined the tower. To their right along the east wall there were two great shutters – loading bay doors – and both on the terrace and on the base level were twenty or so heavy wooden crates. What really got their attention however were the four pillars rising around the centre of the room. Full height pillars lined with what looked like gold. In the distance, near the far eastern pillar, was a lift truck with a crate still sitting on its forks.

The hum of the lighting gave the gallery hazy definition for the Daredevil and he went to a crate in the near corner. Putting his hand on it he found a metal object that he soon decided was a crowbar. He levered a section of the crate up and reached in. what he pulled out was a solid heavy brick.

"Gold…" Spidey cooed in amazement.

"Kingpin's bullion," said the Devil. He considered the fork truck, the crates, the loading bay shutters. Those must lead to an underground vehicle park or cargo elevators. "He's shipping his wealth. It was the one thing the authorities never found."

Without warning, the thick security doors on the north wall rumbled open and an army came bursting through like a tidal wave. Daredevil dropped the gold bar into the crate and joined the defensive line.

A team of hooded troops in grey city-camo had entered first and secured the room before a legion of ninja-like vampires swarmed in and filled the base level. They halted.

Blade grinned. He'd been right.

Finally, from the far door, a giant of a troop stepped in. It seemed he was the leader of Fisk's SWAT team. He secured the area around the door and two more characters entered. They were like the ninjas… but different. They were unique.

Stonewall watched the Kingpin's enemies very carefully through the holes in his balaclava as he guarded the door to Fisk Tower. Within seconds, the private bodyguards of the Japanese Dracula followed him and took position on the terrace. They gave Stonewall the creeps. Especially the one they called _Dragontooth_.

Dragontooth was a faceless assassin armed with a pair of four-bladed wrist-warriors as well as the short katana swords sheathed horizontally on his back. His brown-black hair was shoulder length and untamed and some form of mask covered his nose and mouth. The sides of this were decorated with what looked like claws or teeth. Perhaps Dragon teeth, Stonewall considered wryly. The rest of his face was under a black shroud of some kind and his eyes were round metal lenses. He was well-ripped too for a small slim fella. Black straps crossed his chest that held the swords on his back and in the centre of his chest the straps met under a jewel-covered silver crucifix.

His partner was _Tigerstripe_. That one wore a black vest plated with metal sheets on the pecs and abs. He wore a thin pair of dark shades and beneath the bottom lip of his intense face was a small arrow of beard. His name, Stonewall figured, came from his smooth head decorated front-to-back with five orange stripes that tapered to points around his forehead. He had an odd pair of weapons at his side that Stonewall couldn't identify. They were short cloth-wrapped sticks with ornate metal balls on one end.

Both of these creatures wore black combat pants and forearm protectors.

They were the 'Warriors of the Immortal Dragon'.

With a clang of a glass cane on the floor, Wilson Fisk made his entrance with the Vampire Overlord.

"Kingpin," the Daredevil snarled quietly.

"Wassup, fatty?" Spider-Man called across the chamber.

Fisk aimed the point of his cane at Daredevil and his companions. "You shouldn't have come here."

"And you shoulda stayed behind bars," said the Devil. "Who's the new player, Kingpin?"

The ancient grey-haired vampire, dressed in an intricate royal robe replied, as if it had significance: "I am Shinkudō Overlord Hasaki!"

"Bless you," said Spidey.

Blade came forward. He couldn't believe his luck. He'd hit the jackpot. This was the King-freak he was looking for. Takeshi was a bum compared to this target. "Enough talk. You're mine."

Hasaki's eyes thinned almost out of existence. "…Blade…?"

"You're havin' a bad day," taunted Whistler.

Hasaki pursed his lips. "I think not." He turned to Kingpin. "End this." Hasaki spun on his hidden heels and fled through the doorway into the tower. Kingpin signalled the attack and fled after him and the huge heavy doors closed behind him.

It didn't look good for the team of heroes as they faced a squad of guns and monsters. The eight of them were too easy a target. What they needed was a little cover. There was air conditioning to the chamber. High vents pumped air in to cool the massive room. It was all Storm needed. If there was air, there was atmosphere. And if there was atmosphere, she could manipulate it. Her eyes glazed and she reached out to force a drop in air temperature until humidity reached one hundred percent and the air condensed into a thin fog. It was perfect. Enough to be invisible from afar but still see around you.

They could hear the enemy horde advancing.

Whistler looked round at Blade. "I'll find a way to get that door open," he said, and headed off with his sack and shotgun.

Blade drew out his EDTA twin pistols and barrelled down the stone steps firing into the first line of vampires – exploding them all over the tiled floor. Most of the others moved down to the base level after him.

Cyclops set his visor to full force. There were troops approaching along the terrace with electrified cattle prods and he went to meet them hand-to-hand. A lone vampire leapt up to the veranda and Cyclops vaporised it with a red blast.

Storm whipped an ice-cold air current up around her and bowled it into the advancing vampires blasting many of them aside.

Rogue went for the humans with the shock-sticks, kicking the prods aside and taking her boot to them. She began to notice more of the black-clothed vampires around her and it wasn't long before one of them made a line for her. But when she saw it coming for her she wasn't afraid. She felt only hatred, anger, and disgust. It was a female oriental making its way toward her and Rogue decided to give these diseased freaks some of their own medicine. She ripped off her gloves and dodged a punch. Then she planted both her palms on its face. She kept them there long enough to disorientate the vampire girl and to give herself a little of its strength… then Rogue punched a boot into its chest sending it flying back.

The men with the cattle prods came for Wolverine. He met them. Logan ducked to the side to avoid the swiping arc of the electric stick and came up to dig his claws into the man's clavicle. One of the troops came from nowhere and Wolverine felt the surge of electricity shake through his body. He wheeled and shoved a set of claws in his attacker's face.

Spider-Man went up to the ceiling and hung upside-down. Some areas of the fog were thinner than others and he could make out many of the armed soldiers. He saw the Devil dodging bullets and fighting them off. Didn't look like the fog was impairing his vision much. Spidey fired out web-balls like a baseball-pitching machine on overload and started knocking away their guns. Daredevil saw what he was doing and went for the unarmed men. Their nightsticks became their new weapons and the Devil ran into them with his clubs.

Whistler depleted his shotgun. The last round sent a goon reeling and he twirled the gun around to beat them with it.

Vampires burst apart around Blade until his pistols were spent. He threw the guns aside and cut at them with his glaive.

The troops had started firing wildly up at Spider-Man and he'd quickly dropped to the misty floor. Now he crouched; poised on Daredevil's shoulder, surrounded by vamps. The Devil handed him one end of his nunchuka clubs. Spidey sent a web-line to the roof, swung out and the tag-team partners used the garrotte to behead their enemy.

Blade saw a suck-head moving in on Storm's blind side and he tossed the sharp glaive – cutting the vampire down. He reached for his leg straps, pulled up two silver stakes, and pushed forward.

The low fog had thinned to a mist and now that too was beginning to dissipate with the heat of battle. Whistler looked across at the open space and eyed the control for the security door. He was halfway there. Then he saw Rogue having trouble with the vamps. He looked back to the door, then to Rogue. She was so young to be doing this business. He couldn't let her go through the same ordeal over again.

Rogue wasn't having much luck. The monsters were getting wise and avoiding her hands. One had given her a nasty kick in the back. Thankfully, some of the vampire strength still within her protected her from the worst of it. Out of desperation, she armed herself with the vampire mace and fired spurts of the liquid at anything that got too close.

Whistler moved in to protect her with a revolver. It was his last gun and he needed to use it sparingly. But the two of them were surrounded on all sides.

Spidey beat on a handful of cattle-prod goons in a spinning, jumping, throwing, acrobatic brawl. Suddenly a mass of them descended on him and he found himself zapped to the ground. The needle sharp sparks of electricity sending his body into fits.

The Devil came out of nowhere and kicked ass – forcing many of the troops to shock themselves. One tried to knife the shocker into his face and he recoiled, wrapped his nunchuka wire around it and twisted the lightning end into the eyes that glared through the man's hood. The goon spasmed to the ground and he helped the web-head up. Spider-Man and Daredevil stood together – surrounded by a mix of men and monsters.

There were too many and those odds were starting to turn against them as the cloud faded. Cyclops was tired to the bones and he started blasting the enemy with his eyes – vampires and troops alike. He wasn't in a position to be choosy any longer. He was beginning to wonder if it had been a good idea to come at all.

**---------------**

Above them, on the three-metre high terrace, the small elevator door opened.

Remy LeBeau walked cautiously out and received a rude awakening. It was like a scene from Seven Samurai or Platoon. A Battle Royale.

There were men – or vampires, he didn't know which – all around the terrace with Japanese Bo staffs clenched in their padded hands as if watching over the hazy fight gallery below. They saw him standing rather conspicuous at the entrance and he suddenly realised his abilities were useless without some kind of objects he could use. He scouted around for something… and he saw the crates in the corner.

Remy dashed as the warriors intercepted. He grabbed a crowbar from the nearest crate and held it up in his fist. This was it. Time to turn that mutation of his into a weapon. He focused his black and red eyes on the metal bar and sent a charge of kinetic energy through his body, out his fingertip, and into the weapon. The crowbar sizzled in his hand.

A Bo warrior jumped into the air and Remy threw the spinning bar into the heart of the flying blur. The impact made a crack of thunder and the vampire burned and rained ash down on him. Remy felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement. He picked up everything around the crates – a clipboard, a pen, a claw hammer – and used them all to vanquish his assailants. He looked around for something else to throw and tried inside the opened crate. He was mildly surprised to find a gold bar. It was heavy, but he charged it and tossed it like a shot put. Unfortunately it was too damn heavy and it barely travelled before exploding fruitlessly. So much for pocketing a bar, he thought. There was nothing else around him and more of the vampire creatures had him cornered. One spun his Bo confidently. Remy had a sudden feeling that his power wasn't so great after all. He backed up and hit the wall. That's when he felt it. The bump in his back pocket. Salvation!

Remy reached into the back pocket of his pants and lifted out his beautiful deck of varnished cartmundi playing cards. He slipped out the deck and discarded the packet. He turned over the top card and smiled. _Ace of Spades_! He kissed the card.

With a menacing glare, he flipped the card to display the _Ace_ and asked: "Y'all wanna see a card trick?"

When they didn't respond he charged his _Ace of Spades_ and sent it cutting through the air with fire and a bang.

Logan had already taken three bullets when he was stabbed through the ribs under his arm. He slashed at the soldier on the other end and tore the combat knife from his body. He gave his wrists and neck a quick crack to loosen up and went on fighting. Storm twirled past him in a whirlwind as she escaped one crowd of villains to clash with another like a wild tornado.

Remy hurled another card and the vampire tapped it away with his Bo staff and then he was on top of him. He lifted a leg when the staff swept toward him and he took a wrenching hit to the shin and blocked a second swipe with his arm. Remy cried out in pain and fell to his knees, wincing and almost sobbing. The vampire raised his Bo and prepared for a death strike.

"Wait… stop… I'm just a kid… I surrender," Remy spluttered.

The vampire eased off and planted the tip of his Bo on the floor. Then Remy shot up with an uppercut that knocked the creature on its back and he caught the Bo staff in his hand. He was glad the gambit had paid off and he hoped the myths about vampires were true as he slammed the flat end of the stick into the man's chest. The vampire melted away.

Remy allowed himself a moment to be impressed with his work, then another Bo-wielding freak attacked. Their sticks cracked together. The vamp tried to sweep him and Remy jumped the stick and swung his own around but the guy went under it and rammed the edge of his stick at him. Remy caught it with his hand painfully, sent a quick spark into it, and kicked the man away. He didn't bother watching as the stick went off like a warhead and fried the vampire to cinders.

There was no one left but him on the terrace and he looked down into the base level where he could barely pick out who was who. There were so many of the blood-suckers and a good number of hooded army guys too. He saw the Wolverine raging through the enemy lines, spotted the bright-coloured Spider-Man. Then he found Rogue. She was fighting but taking bad hits and the vampires closed in on her. His heart raced. This was his chance to ride in on a white horse. He raised the staff in his hand like a spear and charged it to the max. He sent it sailing down past Rogue and it lanced one of her attackers in the chest.

Rogue saw the stick, turned, saw Remy, and couldn't believe her eyes. She watched him bring up his fist and open it like a mushroom cloud. Then she gave the lanced vampire a final perusal before digging herself into the floor.

The leech popped like a flaming balloon and sent a shock wave into the crowd.

Another of the Japanese Bo-vamps jumped to the higher level and came at Remy. He side-stepped two attacks and caught the stick in his hands. He threw away ethics for a moment – this wasn't a human after all – and palm-punched the creature. The vampire skidded back and felt the charge of energy ripple through his body.

((BOOM))

Remy stood on the raised platform with a Bo staff in one hand and took out three playing cards in his other. He charged the cards and leapt down to the lower floor – throwing them out into the enemy's midst with atomic results.

Remy hit the floor next to his girl and Rogue didn't waste a moment. In the centre of a field of beastly neck-munchers and troops, she grabbed her boyfriend and gave him their first big kiss. It was forceful, long and passionate. Remy dropped the Bo. He gripped her tightly and savoured the wonderful experience. She took his breath away. Then she really did take his breath away and Rogue broke the link. He looked at her with wide satisfied eyes and ignored the sting in his muscles.

Rogue had taken just what she needed. She turned into the line of vampires, charging them and exploding their asses.

Remy felt dizzy suddenly from the contact with her. When a military goon attacked him he flicked a card his way but it only bounced pointlessly from the man's body with a faint sizzle. He was firing blanks. He needed to buy some time until he recovered. Remy cut forward awkwardly and slipped under and around the soldier. The troop turned to see the unarmed kid was holding a combat dagger in his hand. It looked rather familiar and the soldier checked the sheath on his own belt. Empty. He looked to Remy with surprised eyes.

Remy winked. "Once a t'ief, gumbo, always a t'ief." He charged forward and twisted the blade into the man's thigh. It caused the man enough bother for Remy to take a knee to his back and crack his elbow into the man's nose. The goon sloped to the floor and rested.

Blade used the last of his stakes save for one. He wanted to keep one for an emergency. He eased the sword from his back and slashed at the vamps. There were still so many enemies and he hacked away expertly with speed and efficiency. A short Japanese vampire launched into the air and cruised toward him. At the last moment, Blade pointed the sword and the vampire landed squarely onto its long point and crashed into him. The fang-face squealed, brought its legs up against him, and kicked off away into the crowd as it burned and the sword went with it. With his sword gone, he ripped the scabbard from his back and used it as a weapon.

Storm hammered her knuckles into the face of a grey soldier and the eyes in the black hood rolled to white. A bullet tore past her head and she came around to see another troop with a pistol lined at her chest. She gasped and her eyes whitened desperately. A shot was fired. Her eyes darkened again to deep brown and she saw the figure of Blade before her with the bullet smoking in the armour of his vest.

Blade chucked his scabbard against the man's skull and raced into him with a bone-breaking assault. Two vampires spotted Blade without his weapons and approached his rear to try their luck. Storm opened her arms and reached up through the air vents to the open sky. Seconds later, lightning tore through the vents, blew off the covers, and fired into her hands. The charges formed balls of electricity around her fists and she sent them flashing across the gallery into the vampires. Blade reacted in time to watch them barbecue and he gave her the hint of a smile in thanks. "Striking," he noted.

Whistler tossed his revolver and absconded Rogue and her kiss-buddy. "You kids look like ya could use a job. Wanna help an old man open a door?" They nodded and he took a UV flashlight from his bag and slung it back over his shoulder. They moved off around the fork truck with Whistler shining the deadly torch at the vampires and Rogue squeezing jets of garlic silver. Remy covered their rear and watched for human troops. When they came, he lifted a card in each hand, energised them, and cut the air. They hit a pair of soldiers with concusive blasts.

Cyclops was watching Rogue and, if he was seeing right, Remy LeBeau following the old guy toward the door. He looked ahead of them. There was no way they could circle around to the steps and the wall up to the terrace was ten feet high. There were three severe looking bad guys up there guarding the door and a good number on the base level to stop them. They could use some support, he decided. The Daredevil and Spider-Man were teamed up, Storm and the vampire-hunter were covering each other's backs, and Logan didn't look like he needed help.

Cyclops made his move. He pushed forward and gave a short full blast to clear an opening to the truck and climbed up into the cabin. He turned the key. The battery lit up almost full. There was a crate of gold on the forks and he yanked back on the vertical lever. The forks left the floor and he knocked the gear into forward and put his foot down, sending the truck rolling forward. He drove and fired at anything that got too close until he pulled up beside Whistler. "Hey! Need a lift?"

"Much obliged," said the Hillbilly.

Remy lifted Rogue up onto the crate and climbed up before they pulled Whistler up. Remy met with the eyes behind Cyclops' visor. He was waiting for the shaking head or the punishing look or even the 'what the hell are you doing here?'. But Cyclops looked into his eyes and gave him an understanding nod of the head. They crouched on the crate as it was pumped into the air and pushed against the wall level with the terrace. As they stepped off in the north-east corner, Cyclops jumped from the truck and lowered the setting on his visor. There were too many of the troops here and he didn't want to go home that night a mass murderer. He made himself some room - pounding men into a sleep with his force-blasts and looked up to the door. Hasaki's Dragon Warriors were moving to cut the guys off and Cyclops knocked them with two quick taps of the temple. He looked across the door for the big soldier… but he was gone.

Cyclops felt a massive explosion in his skull and went down. He put up a hand to see that his face was intact and flipped to see the man he'd been looking for. The big soldier had bashed him with an incredible fist. The guy was clearly upwards of 6'5'' and large with muscles. A towering muscle-bound military rhino. Cyclops put a finger to his temple.

Then the man removed his hood to reveal a dark strong face. "C'mon, freak!"

Scott paused. Then lowered his firing arm and got up. Not only was that an insult… it was a personal challenge. He clenched his fists and prepared to–

Stonewall stormed the mutant and blitzed him.

Whistler went to the door control and looked it over. A slot with ten digits on a pad below. "Key card and security code," he muttered and kneeled with his bag. Rogue and Remy stood watch. Whistler took out a pocket computer from the bag and switched it on. He placed a replay card into the rear slot and handed another card to Rogue. The cards were joined by a wide grey cable. She inserted it for him and waited.

Spider-Man swept across the gallery on a long web and wrapped a punk up in his legs, lifting him high to the roof… then released him and clung to the ceiling. He scanned about and saw the guys working on the security door.

Whistler gave Rogue a six-digit number and she entered it into the pad. The wall rumbled and the door slowly slid to one side. The tower was open for business. Seconds later, Whistler had hacked deep enough to stop anyone from closing the door again. He packed up and pulled the kids away from the north wall.

Daredevil saw the door roll open and he looked up desperately for a rafter to fire his grapple hook around. But the roof was utterly smooth.

Spider-Man put his hand against the ceiling tile and glued a web to it. He clocked the Devil and swung down at him. Daredevil put up a grasping hand. Spidey caught it and hauled him into the air. In mid-flight they let go and the Devil soared, flipped and landed in a crouch at the open doorway. He sped into the tower section and disappeared.

Spidey landed on the ceiling again. "I'm right behind ya, Devil." He prepared to swing himself down when a figure moved to the opening and blocked it. The vampire with the tiger stripes. He was holding a pair of maces. Two sticks with metal balls on one end. Spidey regarding him with little concern and swung down at him with his feet outstretched.

He received a terrible shock when Tigerstripe made a stroke with a mace and the ball accelerated out of the stick on a chain and smashed into the side of his webbed head.

Logan used the claws to scale the wall and reach the terrace. There had been a warrior in the doorway a moment before but now he was lashing at Spider-Man with an insane set of maces on extendable chains. They were like squid tentacles whipping madly. He didn't worry about that as he made his way carefully toward the door. He checked around. It looked like he would make it without being seen. He turned ahead and Dragontooth was waiting for him.

Blade noticed the open door. The three guards were all distracted and the Daywalker scaled the steps and slipped through the opening. Pretty soon, he thought, Hasaki would be toast and the Shinkudō would die along with him.

Cyclops succumbed to pain of every variety as Stonewall tortured him. He felt his body lifted in one rippling arm and he was swung into a golden pillar. Cyclops hit the ground and spat blood. The man was killing him six ways to Sunday. He was flat out on his stomach when he dragged a bruised arm to his bruised head and shot the man in his nuts with a ruby fist of energy. The man didn't go down on his knees but he did double over with crotch-ache and Cyclops pulled himself up. He smacked a fist across the soldiers' face and the rhino toppled. He wondered what to do with him next when Stonewall trapped his legs and forced him to the floor. Cyclops twisted and landed on his back and before he knew where he was at, the guy was saddled on his chest beating his iron fists into the X-Man's face.

Cyclops could feel his brain crashing against the inside of his skull and he managed painfully to wrench an arm out from under Stonewall's leg. He went for the visor and the soldier caught him by the wrist. With one arm free there was a little play and he yanked his other arm free but again Stonewall caught it. He grinned down at the mutant and splayed his arms out, kneeling on them with all his terrible weight.

Stonewall regarded the freak's visor. What kind of a mutant needed a weapon to fight? "This thing's dangerous," he rumbled and reached for the device.

Scott gasped at the thought…"I wouldn't–"

Too late. Stonewall tugged it suddenly from his face. In the second it took Scott to react and close his eyes, a massive uncontrolled blast erupted and blew the soldier's upper torso into pieces and cracked the roof. Debris fell around him and Scott kept his eyes tight while he freed his arms and recovered the visor from a severed arm. He sat up and eyed the remains of Stonewall. "You got that wrong, meat-head."

Spider-Man had hit the floor hard and rolled to a dazed stop. Now he was forced to dodge as Tigerstripe swung a volley of shattering pitches at him, countering all his acrobatics.

Spidey took his fresh bruises and escaped to the ceiling. But Tigerstripe swung the mace and the chain extended, the ball ripping out chunks of tile and plaster beside Spider-Man's head.

Spidey shot a web-line across the gallery. One sticky end wrapped itself around the approaching mace-ball; the other end stretched and adhered to a far wall. The ball stopped short of its target and reeled back. Spidey looked around to see if he could do the same with the other ball as the vampire whipped it hard right across Spidey's jaw – knocking him to the floor with a thump. He struggled for a moment to get up, then succumbed to unconsciousness.

Wolverine headed for the door with Dragontooth waiting calmly and readied his claws.

Dragontooth raised his wrist blades.

Logan thrust forward and the vampire locked his claws with the blades, jumped with a foot on the mutant's chest and arc-kicked him through the chin.

Logan's head snapped back and before he knew where he was, Dragontooth landed, whirled, and swept his legs from under him. Logan's back smacked the floor and he felt the daggers of pain as the vampire warrior stabbed a set of blades into his chest.

Logan cried out and slashed – cutting across his enemy's snout-guard.

Dragontooth backed off at the near miss and Logan rolled to his knees and was happy for the seconds he needed to heal his chest. He ran at the vampire – side-stepping to the left unexpectedly at the last moment. He dug his right claws into Dragontooth's side, came around and skewered his opposite shoulder.

Now he had the punk held like a spit-roast pig.

Dragontooth kicked off the ground and fell back, crushing Wolverine beneath him. He slipped out of Logan's claws, spun over, and stabbed at him.

Logan caught the knives in his claws with his arms crossed and snapped them clean off.

The vampire jumped up and threw the wrist warriors down and then took out a pair of twin kama blades. They were hand scythes; 18-inch steel handles with 8-inch steel blades in the shape of an 'L'. Dragontooth held them with the blades away from him.

Wolverine scrambled up. What was he goofing around for? This ninja guy was too quick for him to be trading blows with. He thought about boxing. When a fighter is facing tiredness or a faster fitter opponent, he takes to the huddle.

Wolverine retracted his claws and attacked, catching one of the sickles by the long handle and wrapping his hand tight around the vamp's fist. With his other hand he pulled Dragontooth's head toward the sharp steel blade.

The vampire stabbed into Logan's back repeatedly with the free weapon but the mutant ground his teeth and took it. He could afford to.

He hooked the knife-edge of the scythe around the back of Dragontooth's neck and yanked down on the handle. Wolverine felt the searing hot ash as the warrior fried around him.

Spider-Man came to. How long had he been out? He raised himself quickly to his knees and fought the nausea. Tigerstripe arrived alongside him and belted the back of his skull with a retracted mace. The mace went up again for a second strike but Spider-Man launched into him with an iron crack to the underside of his jaw.

The vampire flew up and landed metres away.

Spidey took hold of his head as it throbbed with the pain of movement.

Tigerstripe picked himself up.

Spidey pushed the pain aside and faced the enemy. He was starting to get tired of this creature. No more Mr. Nice arachnid, he thought as he began to work the spinneret glands at his wrists to form hard balls of silk.

When Tigerstripe released the mechanism on his maces and the hard metal orbs clanged to the tile floor, Spider-Man was ready to hit him with a set of web-balls of his own. Time for some payback, his inner monologue taunted, time to feed you a slice of your own pie.

Spidey swung an arm and let fly. His balls of web fired out on lines and he took the vampire by surprise. One of them got caught around the creature's throat and the vampire held it tight to protect his valuable head.

Spidey pulled and slung the vampire around on the end of the line until he crashed into the wall. With a quick wrist-flick from his other hand, he webbed the freak's body to the wall.

With one hard tug on the mace-line, Spider-Man tore the head from Tigerstripe's shoulders and watched him burn up to charcoal dust.


	11. Finale 3

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- Finale: Heroes & Giants --**

The executive elevator opened onto the roof of Fisk Tower and the mountainous Kingpin moved out and made his way toward the helipad where his private Agusta helicopter waited. Right behind him, the vampire overlord Hasaki swept across the rooftop and he wasn't happy.

Neither, for that matter, was Fisk. They'd watched the gallery monitors in his private office until it became clear things could turn badly. Things could also still work out down below. Not just Blade and Daredevil dead but New York's other heroes with them. But now he would have to fall back like a coward until the dust settled and the results were known. And he wasn't happy at all about leaving his gold!

Kingpin pulled himself up into the pilot seat of the reinforced cockpit and set the motors running as Hasaki climbed into the luxury passenger cabin.

The propellers were just beginning their lazy start-up when the door to the stair access burst open.

Kingpin and Hasaki turned to see the dark horned figure standing in the doorway with a club in his hand.

Daredevil fired his grapple hook around the tail rotor of Fisk's copter and the blades sheared away.

Fisk slammed his fists into the controls and cursed as he dismounted from the useless craft.

"Trying to escape again, Kingpin?" the Devil called over the growing whine of the helicopter's rotors.

Fisk held his glass cane in both giant hands and wrung it like a wet towel until his knuckles turned white.

Daredevil could sense the big man's tension and smiled. "You're going back in the box."

Hasaki drew up to the Kingpin. "Are you going to deal with this, Fisk?"

Kingpin gave it a moment of thought. He wasn't stupid. The helicopter was not his only means of escape from Fisk Tower. He could return to his office and take the secret elevator from there to the underground tunnel leading to the sewer beneath Central Park. From there he could go to the large sewer grill near the Guggenheim and hail a cab. Then, straight to JFK airport to his private jet and away he would go. Then he'd come back bigger than ever.

"We have an arrangement, Hasaki," said Fisk wisely.

"You have yet to deliver Blade to me dead."

"I will go see to that myself immediately. If our deal is still on?"

"Be certain not to fail," the vampire said in agreement.

Daredevil moved to intercept Kingpin as he made his way back to the elevator. The next thing he knew he was being grabbed by two clawed hands and thrown across the roof.

----------

Blade searched the bottom two floors of the tower on foot and found no sign of life. Then he took the elevator to the top. If he were a criminal kingpin he wouldn't want a room anywhere but at the top. If he could find that fat porkbeast he would also find Hasaki.

The elevator came to its last stop and the doors opened into a cold white marble and glass corridor lined with small offices. At the centre of the hall was the big office. The one that had to be Kingpin's. He checked it and searched everywhere. It wasn't a welcoming room with its plain white marble floor and walls. There was a massive desk in steel and glass and the only thing the office had going for it was the magnificent view through its plate window.

The room was empty. There was nothing there for him. Then he heard the doors of an elevator opening. Blade returned to the corridor and looked to the elevator he'd arrived in. Closed. He turned and saw the second elevator at the opposite end. Halfway between he and it was the gargantuan form of Kingpin. His face bore surprise at the sight of Blade.

Fisk regained his composure and began to walk slowly toward him, banging the glass cane on the floor.

Blade looked him up and down. The big man in the white suit had to be 400+ pounds.

"They tell me you're a half-breed, Daywalker," said Fisk with a hint of contempt. "In fact, they told me all about you. The way you fight. Everything. It looks like I will have the opportunity to fulfil my arrangement with Hasaki after all."

"That the arrangement where you kill me?"

"That's right, half-breed. I kill you and he kills Daredevil. Simple but brilliant. You know how to fight his kind, and Daredevil knows how to fight me. But switch you around… and the both of you are in for a surprise."

"Hasaki told you all about me, huh?" If that was true, Blade thought, then the upper hand would be his own. "There's one problem with that, Waddles." Blade's canines gleamed white. "That worm has no idea who he's f––kin' with."

The Kingpin slammed his cane into the floor and cracked the marble. It held there as he removed first his jacket, then slipped the cravat tie from his bulky neck and removed a waistcoat, kevlar vest and finally his enormous shirt.

Blade saw the hard sumo fat and knew he could be in for a tough fight.

Blade didn't want the big man to gather any momentum so he went right in and attacked with a rapid-fire combo to Kingpin's stomach.

It seemed to have no effect on the man at all.

Kingpin gave him a sudden sideways slap with one huge hand - knocking him flying through the marble wall and back into his private office.

Kingpin broke through the hole and launched his cane like a giant crystal dart. Blade rolled aside and the stick cracked through the glass desk.

Blade began to peel himself from the floor when Kingpin grabbed his head in both hands, raising him into the air, and crushed.

Blade felt his skull shrinking under the vice and he held onto the giant wrists and hooked both legs over Kingpin's arms to weigh them down and weaken the deathly grip.

Once again there was no effect.

Blade kicked both feet into Kingpin's face and managed to make him more perturbed.

Fisk used one great hand to smash Blade's head down into the floor; splitting marble.

Kingpin took the fallen Daywalker by his leg and swung him with all his might into the wall. Blade hit it like a ragged doll and crashed down into a heap.

Fisk reached to take him by the throat and raised him high with a single arm.

Blade couldn't breathe and he felt his eyes beginning to bulge. He could call this an emergency. He took his last stake and stabbed it into the giant ogre's wrist. He was dropped suddenly and he rolled out of Kingpin's reach.

Kingpin tore out the stake like it was nothing more than a splinter.

Blade had no more tools. Only those that usually served him well – his lethal limbs. But they would break on this monster of a man. He was also hurting. And tired. Too damn tired. Even at full strength he knew all his speed meant nothing against a man built like a bomb shelter. And every minute he wasted was a minute more Hasaki had to escape.

Blade took the glass cane from out the smashed table and held it like a sword. It was as long as his own sword and the thick end held a large diamond. The other end narrowed to a sharp pinpoint. Blade thrashed it about – forcing Kingpin to avoid the dangerous tip. Fisk was strong alright but he lacked the speed of the Daywalker.

Blade dazzled the big man with his showy swordsmanship as he swung the cane about aimlessly and finally – when Fisk was most open – Blade sunk half the rod into the man's hard belly.

Blade felt the thunder crack in his face as a roaring Fisk belted him hard. He landed on the floor at Kingpin's feet. Fisk was about to draw out the glass sword.

Blade brought a leg back and rammed his heel into Kingpin's right kneecap.

The giant screamed and wondered if somehow the Devil had warned Blade of his weakened knees.

"They tell you I was a ruthless motherf–––er too?" Blade said and spun in a break-dance move that swept Fisk's leg up.

The big man toppled to the floor with a heavy wet slap.

"I ain't a superhero," said Blade as he stood over Kingpin. "Stick to what you know."

The man cradled his burning knee and Blade ripped the cane from his stomach.

"In the meantime…" the Daywalker went on, stabbing the cane through Fisk's leg and deep into the marble, then snapping the stick in half and blasting the gem across his temple, "Take a break, Butterball."

Blade threw the bloody stick down and left the giant sleeping. The police would take care of the rest.

--------

Daredevil was seriously messed up. If he could see he was sure he would be dizzy. The vampire moved so fast – too fast. It was like he moved quicker than the sound of his movement and the Devil couldn't see his attacks before they struck. He'd tried to open his staff but Hasaki had caught and snapped it easily – as if he was expecting it. The monster had dispatched his nunchukas in a second. All his usual weapons had failed. And now he was feeling the pain of being hammered to death.

Hasaki gripped the weakened man by his throat and raised him up until his scalp was almost in the main rotors of the helicopter as they cut the air with their loud drumbeat. It was the only sound that gave focus to Daredevil's world and made Hasaki's fangs so terribly real before him.

"You cannot win this battle, human," Hasaki called out matter-of-factly. "I know all your tricks. All your skills and weapons, blind man." He raised the Devil higher until the rotors caught one of his crimson horns and sliced it away. Matt Murdock braced himself for worse…

The elevator opened and suddenly Daredevil was back on hard ground with the blades spinning harmlessly three metres above him.

"Daywalker." Hasaki removed his cumbersome robe to reveal a tightly wrapped body of almost only skin and bones. Dealing with Fisk had clearly been a mistake.

Blade stepped across the roof trying to mask his pain and weakness. This was it. The culmination of months of chasing and battling. This creature here was the Shinkudō. Kill him, he told himself, kill the whole organisation. He couldn't afford weakness and pain. There was no time for it. He would–

Hasaki darted across the rooftop, lifted Blade, and hurled him over the parapet.

The Daywalker clasped the roof edge with one hand and managed to keep with it as he swung over and slammed into the side of the building. He reached and gripped with both hands. He wanted to pounce – to leap over the wall and kick Hasaki's scrawny ass but it was all he could do to just lift his arms safely over the wall and rest his head there.

Hasaki laughed at the ease of his attack. Blade would be an easy kill. And so too would be the Daredevil. He was just a human and he had used up all his weapons. He turned. Daredevil was standing beside him. And then Hasaki felt the burning pain in his chest.

In the Devil's hand was the billy-club he had returned to his apartment for. The one he had made a long time ago when he heard the rumours about vampires. The weapon he had never used. His secret weapon. The billy-club stake.

"Bet you didn't see that one coming," Daredevil spoofed as Hasaki began to burn. He lashed out with a karate kick that sent the flaming vampire screaming over the rooftop.

Hasaki fell in fire and smoke as he crumbled and became ash at the mercy of the winds.

Moments later, Blade rolled onto the roof and was still lying there when his friend Whistler arrived.

Daredevil found Kingpin bleeding and unconscious in his top floor office and called the police. He looked over the monitors that showed the gallery war zone below and was pleased to see that the giants had tumbled and the heroes had won the night.


	12. The End Of The Fellowship

_**- Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- The End of the Fellowship --**

The X-Men were alone in the dirty war zone of the gallery beneath Fisk's pyramid. Most of the floor was now covered in a coat of warm ash and dead and injured human bodies lay all around. The vampire hunter and the old man had vanished. Spider-Man and the Daredevil were also gone. Cyclops and Storm had returned from the tower to say it was clear and Kingpin was down.

Wandering through the no-man's-land of smoking ash, Wolverine came across the unique Sword of the Daywalker. He reached down and picked the weapon up. It was the coolest sword he'd ever seen and the hilt was decorated with alien symbols. He hefted it in his hand and already decided to keep it. Hell, if the broody bad-ass didn't want it; finders keepers. His ears pricked up at a whirring noise that seemed to come from the sword itself.

Then, suddenly, four razor knives snapped out of the sword hilt and sliced into his palm. Logan yelped and dropped the sword. To hell with that, he decided, shaking his torn hand.

Remy leaned on his new Bo staff and watched Rogue's tight leather butt as she walked up the steps to the elevator. Logan joined him, shaking the injured hand as the gashes closed up.

Remy sighed. "She a fine gal, mon frere. Got m' heart all tied round that one. I gotta be a lucky Cajun for sure."

Logan was quite surprised by the kid's sensitivity. "You ever do wrong by her and–" SHING

Remy went wide-eyed at the three knuckle skewers and slinked away after his girl.

Logan retracted the claws as Storm and Cyclops joined him.

"He did a good job tonight," Storm noted.

Logan snarled. "The kid's reckless. Cocky. Arrogant. Impulsive."

"Don't worry, Logan," said Scott. "He's in enough trouble over his card games. The Professor won't let him get off lightly after this stunt."

"I never said I didn't like him," replied Wolverine. "Hell – kinda reminds me of myself."

Storm had to agree with Logan. "Let's not be so hard on him, Scott. He turned out to be the _Ace_ we didn't even know we had up our sleeves."

Cyclops considered it. "I guess he was our gambit after all."

"Yeah," said Storm thoughtfully, "Our _Gambit_."

"Gambit, huh?" Logan watched the boy as he led Rogue out of the building. "Looks like you're gonna need another costume."

The trio smiled and headed out.

"I don't think so, Logan," Cyclops began. "Whatya trying to do? Phase us old-timers out?"

Logan huffed at that remark. "Old-timers? Speak for yourself, One-eye. I'm only fifteen years old, remember."

"Ha! More like sixty, Gramps."

Storm slapped both their arms as they ascended the tiled steps. "Cool it, boys. Or one of you gets to sit in the back on the way home."

They climbed into the elevator and Scott needled: "Well, I'll be flying the jet, so…"

"Hey, I could fly your damn plane." Logan replied. "And don't you roll your eye at me."

The doors rolled shut.


	13. From One Hero To Another

**- **_**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- From One Hero t****o Another --**

Daredevil searched around and finally found Spider-Man on the roof of the Soloman R. Guggemheim Museum. Across the Park, sirens were wailing as the police arrived at Fisk Tower to take care of the mess.

Daredevil approached the web-slinger. "Hey, partner. Nice team work back there. Sticking around to watch the clean-up?"

Spidey didn't look so enthused. "No… I was just thinking." He turned around sadly and began to walk away. "I should get going."

Daredevil called after him: "Wait. Hey… Peter Parker!"

Spider-Man stopped dead.

"It took me a while. It's a little hard to imagine, after all, but I recognise your voice. You're Miss Watson's friend. You're Peter Parker."

"Peter Parker?" Spider-Man walked back nervously and tried to be casual. "The kid who takes my pictures? Good guess, Devil, but wrong." He thought that had sounded convincing and he started to leave.

"I don't think so, Peter."

Spidey paused again. If he made too big a deal it would look suspicious but he couldn't just leave it there. He was still trying to think of a response when he turned back. To his surprise, Daredevil had removed his red leather mask.

"I never forget a voice," he said with added poignancy.

"Matt Murdock? …I don't understand… How is it possible?"

"What? For a blind man to function in a sighted world?"

Spidey flustered. "That's not exactly what I meant… not really."

"Whereas a human spider is… normal?"

Spider-Man put his hands up in surrender and walked back to the roof edge at Matt's side. He wanted to say so much but couldn't find the words.

"You know, Peter, your girlfriend's in big trouble."

"Girlfriend? MJ? Oh, she's just a friend."

"You want me to talk about your heartbeat, perspiration and vocal quiver when you're around her?"

"…no," Spidey moaned in defeat. Matt was some guy.

"She's got the weight of the government leaning on her now, Pete, and she doesn't have a prayer without Spider-Man. She could go to prison."

"I was just trying to save her from a mugger," Spider-Man said weakly. He removed his mask and looked out over the green park.

"Mary-Jane needs a hero," said Matt.

"The City needs a hero."

"The City has heroes, Pete."

Peter turned to Matt and saw the DD symbol embossed across his leather chest. The sky rumbled and he watched as the X-Jet lifted up from Central Park and rocketed away over New York.

Yeah, he conceded, the City had a legion of heroes.

Matt's words broke his thoughts: "What kind are you gonna be?"

That's what he had to decide, wasn't it? What would he sacrifice for the one he loved? He turned to speak… but the Devil was gone.


	14. Closure

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- Closure for the Daywalker --**

Takeshi Shibasaki stumbled out of the Captain Kangaroo bar, drunk on the blood and alcohol of the patrons, and into the cool Osaka night. He was back in Japan, but why the hell for? What was the point? Three nights now of street-crawling. Eating anything and everything just to relieve anger that had no release. He'd lost everything. The Shinkudō was in ruins. He had no reason left to continue. If he had to kill every living human on the earth to bring closure to his own existence he would do so. He stopped beside a dark alley to spark-up a stolen cigarette. Across the street he saw the hot young J-girls heading for a nightclub. Tasty. He could start with them! He took one step in their direction…

Then, from the darkness, a pair of fists took hold of him and threw him down into the quiet alley. He was on the floor in a damp patch and disorientated. He looked up.

"…no…"

Blade loomed over him; the sword on his back gripped in a fist. "Oh yeah."

SLICE.

**---------------**

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- Closure for the Web-head --**

Mary-Jane was sat numb in the cold courtroom as the Judge entered to begin the trial. Harry had come to show his support. There was nothing he could do… but at least he was there for her. Harry hadn't been surprised at Spider-Man's lack of help either. But he was surprised Peter hadn't shown.

The Judge ordered the proceedings to begin and Arad, the prosecutor from her hearing, gave a long-winded introduction to the jury that made MJ sound like a psychotic witch.

Arad was just at the end of her closing speech when the courtroom doors sung inward.

The Judge, jury, and all present turned. Matt smiled at the 'sight' he had almost given up on.

Spider-Man.

Murdock stood and asked to approach the bench. He and Arad moved to the high seat of the overseer and Matt explained the case could be resolved in minutes and they all could enjoy an early lunch if Spider-Man could take the stand right now.

Arad scoffed loudly so all could hear: "My eleven-year-old son has a Spider-Man costume, your Honour. Anyone can walk in here with a spandex suit and say they're Spider-Man. He should be removed from the court." She turned as a globule of slimy web struck her in the mouth and stuck.

"I think we've all heard enough from you, Lady," said Spider-Man. He fired a line of web onto the ceiling and swung himself into the witness box. "I'd like to make a statement, your Honour. Clear this whole thing up."

The Judge surrendered to this remarkable turn of events and signalled everyone to take their seats.

"It'll come off in an hour or so," Spidey noted as Arad tried to tear the web from her lips. He looked to the Judge.

"Now, Spider-Man, I'm afraid I can't accept your statement unless you identify yourself for the court records. Do you understand what I'm telling you?" The tone of the Judge held a great weight of responsibility.

The hero gave a nod. Then he reached up and pulled the mask from his face.

The Jury gasped at seeing the face of their hero. Mary-Jane's shock was clear. Harry stood up and stormed out. And Matt Murdock looked his way with great respect and satisfaction.

"Please state your name to the court."

"My name is Peter Parker…

…And I was witness to the events on the evening of May ninth…"


	15. BONUS Chapter

- _**Marvel Heroes**_** -**

**-- BONUS: X-Closure --**

Rogue walked out across the sunny lawn of the X-Mansion and saw Logan walking from the student dorm with his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Logan!…You're leaving again? I don't understand. You just got back!"

He gave a humoured grin. "I'm not leaving, kiddo. …I'm moving _in_."

"You _are_? For real? How long for?"

"Calm yourself down there. The Professor's asked me to take on a couple of classes. I'm heading for the teacher's dorm now."

"What?" Her mouth gaped.

"He wants me to take over the Sports class to free up one-eye-boy. And I'm taking on a self-defence group for the older kids."

Her gape became a huge gleeful smile.

"I know," he continued, "bad idea."

"You'll be great. But I had you down for a dedicated loner."

He gave a sigh and looked around the grounds. "I've been cruising from place to place for fifteen years, Rogue. …This is the only place in all that time that I feel…"

"Welcome?"

"Yeah. Welcome."

Rogue smiled warmly and began to leave for the rec room with a new spring in her step. She stopped. "When do you start?"

"This afternoon."

"So, I guess I'll see you in class sometime."

"_Then_ it'll be _Sir_." He grinned.

Rogue threw back a thumb. "You won't wanna come hang out then; now you're a teacher n' all?"

"Actually, there's something I need to do."

----------

A razor impacted in water filled with short hairs, releasing foam into the mix. The razor was then washed clean under the gush of a cold tap and discarded.

Hands covered in manly hair applied aftershave to a smooth raw chin.

The same hands lifted a vest from a bed and pulled it over a muscled hairy torso and tucked it into denim pants, fastening the elaborate belt buckle tight.

Logan approached the large mirror in his new room. His face was clean-shaven for the first time in his memory. Side-burns gone. Hair slicked back.

He looked into the mirror to see if he still looked mean.

"You talkin' to me?" … SHING… "It's _Mister_ Logan to you, Bub."


End file.
